Meet Cow.

My son Michael received Cow as a present when he was five months in utero, so he’s had him for awhile now.  He goes to bed with Cow every night, and he’s pretty attached.  He never plays with Cow during the day, but where Michael sleeps, Cow sleeps.

I recently took my kids camping because I am campaigning for the Mother of the Year award, and also because I’m not very bright about practical matters and I suspect I have masochistic tendencies.  We rented a cabin in Ft. Stevens State Park, a few miles south of Astoria, Oregon, about 90 miles from home. Cow came along with us, because Cow comes everywhere with us. We walked on the beach, we cooked over a campfire, I only lost my kid in the woods once, fun was had by all.

The next morning we packed up, checked out of the cabin, had a nice long hike on the beach, I only had to pull my kid out of a waist-high stagnant bog once, and fun was again had by all. Quiet, relaxed and happy, we made the 90 minute drive home where I fed dinner to my two worn out children and put them to bed. I’m tucking them in when Michael looks at me and mutters, “Want Cow.”

Oh crap.

I look around, don’t see Cow.  Check the bags, no Cow.  Dump everything out of the car, still no Cow.  I tell Michael to go to bed and I will find Cow while he is sleeping. (I can sometimes get away with this if my children are in incredibly good moods, and because I had just spent the last two days making his camping dreams come true, he lets it slide and goes to sleep.) I rip apart all the gear, but it’s painfully obvious Cow didn’t make the return trip with us, and with the sort of clarity I imagine people must have right before they die, I know with absolute certainty that cow is back in Cabin 12, wedged between the sofa and the wall.

Oh well, Michael went to sleep and there’s nothing I can do about it tonight, right?  I will just call the housekeeping staff in the morning and ask them to ship it to me. It’s not that big a deal, right? Right? With that final self-delusion firmly planted in my brain, I go to bed.

You probably figured out which direction this story’s going in by now.

I’m jolted awake by screams and crashes. It’s 1:45 AM, every light in the house is turned on, Michael is sobbing, racing from room to room screaming, “COW!  WANT COW!”  Guess he woke up.

Have I mentioned crap?

I grab my pillow and take Michael back to his room, trying to calm him down. He’s weeping, “I want Cooooowww,” and it’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard. He cries on and off all night, mostly every time I’m about to doze off and get ten actual minutes of sleep. The whole “ask them to ship it to me” plan flew right out the window at around 4AM and I was resolved: I would solve this cow conundrum or die trying!

Morning finally rolls around and I shove Michael on the bus to school because Dear God I need him to go to school. I’m on the phone with Ft. Stevens the second they open, begging them to search for Cow, terrified about what I will do if they can’t locate him. Praise the Lord, Cow is found!

Operation Phase Two: Cow Retrieval is underway. I have to pull both children from class early to guarantee I make it back to the coast before they close the office. When Eric wants to know why he has to leave school after lunch I tell him we need to drive back to the beach because we forgot Michael’s cow. Eric owns a fetid, stinky blue rag named Kiki that we will one day pry out of his cold dead hands, but he has no empathy for his brother’s plight, and he informs me, “No, that does not sound fun for me, I’m not going.” I had to bribe him with dinner and a carousel ride in Seaside to make it “fun for him” so now we are tacking an additional two hours and fifty bucks onto the longest and most miserable day I can remember.

By the time we hit Hwy 101 Michael is screaming for his cow (and a hamburger), Eric is screaming for Michael to shut up about his cow (and that he also wants a hamburger), and I have to pee so badly I don’t really give a damn if they rip each other’s heads off. I better win that freakin’ Mother of the Year award after all of this.

Those of you riddled with anxiety because this post is triggering your own parental  PTSD can breathe easy, we finally made it to Ft. Stevens, and Boy and Cow were reunited at last, Michael was happy for five whole minutes before he started demanding something else, and we all lived to fight another day.

But now I’m terrified. I don’t want to leave my house ever again. I’m scared to go visit family, I’m scared to take a vacation. What if we lose Cow again? What if we can’t get him back so easily next time?  I feel like I’m a hostage, or I’m sitting on a time bomb, or I’m trapped in an episode of 24 but Keifer Sutherland can’t get to me because of the LA traffic. My security and peace of mind rests in the hands of a forgetful little boy and an easily misplaced out-of-production stuffed animal. It’s just a matter of time…

The only way I will ever truly be free is to have a back-up plan: I need a contingency Cow!

This dependency on the sacred toys isn’t right. How many other parents are scared to leave the house for fear of losing the one toy that can never be replaced? How many other moms have lost sleep because some precious rag or treasured piece of plastic was lost forever?

We need an Irreplaceable Toy Database! A spot where parents can track down those hard to find toys so they always have a backup.  Yes, I know that place already exists and it’s called EBAY, but not everything is available on EBAY, and I hate to see a desperate parent gouged by a toy collector, so we really need a better way to help each other out. If you have an urgent need of a back up toy and can’t find it anywhere else, feel free to post in the comments and maybe somebody can help you out.

It’s my blog, so I’ll go first:  Cow’s made by Gund and his official name was ”Milkshake” and it’s a flat blanket  mat sort of thing, not the 12” plush. We got it at Babystyle about 10 years ago, and they’re no longer in business. If you or someone you know has a cow they no longer need and would be willing to pass along, you might just save a life…probably mine.

Please help me, Internet, you’re my only hope.

Because “Autism-Awareness-Acceptance-Appreciation-Ambivalence-Alliteration-Day-Week-Month-Trimester-Decade” won’t fit on my calendar.

We’re not supposed to call it “autism awareness” now because we are supposed to be focused on “autism acceptance,” even though people have to be aware before they can be accepting, and there is still a huge part of humanity for whom autism isn’t even a blip on the radar.  (But that’s big picture stuff and we all know Spectrumville doesn’t get bogged down by that!) Awareness isn’t good enough, we need acceptance…got it.  But now I’m hearing rumblings that acceptance isn’t good enough, it should be embracing and equality, and nobody will ever be able to do anything well enough to make everybody happy so why do we even bother trying? So instead we will continue to fight about how awareness isn’t good enough while people in the park continue to stare at our kids because they have no idea why they’re jumping around and flapping their hands like that. It’s exhausting and exasperating, so from now on let’s just celebrate Autism Acknowledgement Day, and that will just have to be good enough for everybody.

Just pick a day already!

I have no idea when I’m supposed to be aware.  We all talk about autism on March 22, but April 2 is World Autism Awareness Day and April is Autism Awareness Month  and isn’t there a day in September when we’re supposed to do something? I can’t keep track and I’m way too busy to maintain that level of participation. We need one day.  I propose that we cancel all that other stuff and simply celebrate Autism Acknowledgement Day on the second Monday in October. That used to be Canadian Thanksgiving, but what do they really need their own Thanksgiving for? They’re just being annoying with that.* It’s a useless holiday and we’re taking it over.

Stop making me ask my relatives for money!

Walks are a pain in the ass; from now on we will celebrate Autism Acknowledgement Day by just having one big conga line across the entire planet. It’s stimmy and gets the point across. Also, it will be after lunch, because those walks were always too damn early.

Pick a charity and stick to it.

Everybody loves to vilify Autism Speaks. They either raise too much money or don’t raise enough and they research the wrong things and never give enough money to people who want it. I hear they want to lobotomize my children and abort my babies, and nobody is going to be happy even if they start handing out puppies and candy to everybody with a diagnosis. Listening to all these complaints is enough to make anyone throw up their hands and give all their money to juvenile diabetes.  Instead, let’s all just give each other five bucks. We all get to feel good about giving, we all get to feel entitled about receiving. Win win.

Is the gay community done with the rainbow yet?

I guess now we’re finished with the puzzle piece?  I personally have no problems with the puzzle, and the “unaware” majority of the world associates that symbol with friendship and love, but a lot of autistics really hate that symbol. I suppose it doesn’t matter if I agree or not, they are entitled to feel that way and I’ll support them. The problem I have is the timing. Couldn’t they have gotten offended by the puzzle piece before the puzzle piece became the recognized world symbol for autism awareness? Or at least before a lot of loving parents tattooed them into their skin?

2010 called, they want this mother’s unconditional love back.

To conclude, these advocates want to do away with the puzzle piece but they don’t have anything to replace it with. Do you know how hard it is to re-brand with a whole new symbol? Something that can overpower and replace a symbol that the entire planet has come to rely on?  Don’t panic… we’ve got it. From now on this is the new symbol for autism acknowledgement.

Steve Jobs had autism. Or something.

 *Erica and I acknowledge that Canada is actually a very cool country and deserves its own Thanksgiving. Please don’t be offended, eh?

You see there’s childproofing, and then there’s MY CHILD proofing. Cannon and Carson require a whole other level, as I’ve explained before. People are impressed with the amount of physical deterrents I have in my home, and joke that I should open my own childproofing business. Unfortunately, everything I’ve ever implemented came about after a catastrophe occurred, but I’m intrigued by the possibilities.

Here’s my catalog:

For all your childproofing needs… after the fact.

I’ve divided all products into three categories based on child skill level: Criss Angel, David Copperfield, and Harry Houdini.

Criss Angel: This category is for the kids who have very shrewd minds, but are not tall enough or strong enough to carry out most of their nefarious plots and schemes yet. This is the cheapest category and easiest to implement, because you can actually re-purpose many items already found in your own home. Examples include burying them up to their necks in a kiddie pool filled with gummy bears; strapping an iPhone to their heads so Apple can keep tabs on them; or simply using old therapy items in a new way.

David Copperfield: These products incorporate multiple categories of effects including illusion, transformation, and prediction. These are the kids whose parents find themselves saying, “Oh shit, I thought we were past this stage already!”

Prediction: for the budding escape artists.

Transformation: instant therapy dog for those who wander.

Harry Houdini: For the master escape artists and their desperate parents. These products are a bit on the unconventional side, but are extremely effective. Examples include door handle covers made from artisan-crafted saw blades; energy-efficient electric fences topped with upcycled razor wire; and museum-grade laser beam systems complete with dropping cages which have received a rating of “humane” by Temple Grandin.*

Don’t touch my smart phone!

Shipping comes in three speeds: Expedited ($25), Right Now ($50), and I Needed This Yesterday! ($100).

Who knows, if this venture actually takes off, I may eventually be able to fund my Extreme Privacy: Backyard Edition landscaping business.

Like this, only without the doorway.

*Not really.

I know I’ve been quiet lately. I’ve had a lot on my mind these past few months, and many new challenges to face. You see, my cat was recently diagnosed with Feline Idiopathic Cystitis (FIC).

In a nutshell, FIC is bladder inflammation of unknown cause. In cats. It is a collection of symptoms that has many suspected causes (trauma, environmental triggers, “refrigerator owners”, etc.) and primarily affects young males. According to hundreds of studies,  FIC is greatly on the rise, yet is still poorly understood.

In Abbott’s* case, FIC manifests as peeing outside the litter box. Pillows, rugs, stuffed animals, sofas, and so on. He prefers things that are too large to fit in a washing machine, and generally likes to perform in front of an audience.

I was in denial at first. Then I grieved. What had I done to bring this on? Was it birth trauma, or the rabies vaccine that he got when he was two? I became angry. I mourned the cat I would never have. I severed ties with friends whose cats peed exclusively in their litter boxes. FIC became my whole world.

…

Once, about ten years ago, I was having a glass of wine with a friend outside on the balcony of her apartment. She gestured across the atrium towards a large black cat on the opposite balcony and lamented, “Pyewacket keeps getting out of the house. He’ll eat the bad kibble over there and end up with crystals in his urine again. I just can’t seem to keep him from wandering, and every time he gets out it’s a $100 vet bill.”

“Wow, that sounds rough. Boy, you really have your hands full. I don’t know how you do it,” I replied with a mixture of horror and sympathy. Thank God my cat doesn’t have those kinds of problems.

You just never think it’s going to happen to you someday.

…

There is no cure for FIC, although some cats will have a decrease in frequency of “episodes” as they get older.  For the others, there are a variety of therapies designed to manage symptoms (but never with the intention to “fix” or “cure”), always with the goal of enabling the cat to be his best feline self.

Examples of effective therapeutic interventions include a highly specialized diet, boatloads of supplements, anti-anxiety medications, environmental enrichment, and applied behavioral analysis.

Sensory Integration therapy may be of some benefit, according to some guys on the internet.

I have to admit, there are days where I feel exhausted and overwhelmed.  Not only is it demoralizing to continuously be dealing with these challenging behaviors, but then I can’t even safely vent about it in the cat owner forums without being constantly told: “Having any kind of pet is hard work– get over it!” or, ”FIC is a gift!” or, “When you complain about your cat’s bladder you are tarnishing ALL cats with FIC and making other owners think that it’s okay to put their FIC cats to sleep!”

I don’t think any of that is true. I’m just tired of cleaning up cat pee, and sometimes I just need to gripe about it with others in the FIC community; because a group gripe can be good for the soul, releases some steam, and makes us all able to soldier on better for the long run.

What some cat enthusiasts don’t seem to realize is that while yes, we all know and expect that pets will be a lot of work when they are babies, with FIC, that work goes on for years and years and years. It’s one thing to house-break a kitten or puppy for the first year or two, which is what every pet owner knowingly signs up for, but it’s a different story when you are still doing it eight (or ten, or twenty) years later.

Acknowledging this hardship doesn’t change our love for our cats. It doesn’t make them “less than.” It doesn’t diminish our FIC cats in any way to say that we are just a little weary of cleaning up their pee every day, year after year. And yet, I can’t say any of this to the people in those forums without having my voice silenced. So I say it here instead, because this is a safe place free of judgment and scorn.

In conclusion, I would like to state that despite my struggles, I fully accept that FIC is something to be embraced and accommodated, not marginalized. Additionally, if you or someone you love is living with FIC, you can join the Indoor Cat Initiative which not only celebrates and promotes feline bladder diversity, but also lobbies for pet insurance reform. You’ve probably even seen their awareness ribbon which is made out of string and dangling toys. January is Fresh Water Month, and February is the annual Clean Litter Box Campaign. Best of all, there are actual cats on their board. United, we can all make a difference.

*Prior to telling Abbott’s story, implied consent was first obtained.

In the interest of community spirit, I propose the following terms be added to the 2013 AED (Autism English Dictionary).

The first language battle in the ASD community was the debate about whether a person is autistic or has autism.  Not since the great I’m blond/I have blond hair debacle has a community been so divided. The issue is even more complicated since Asperger’s has now bitten the dust. So in the interest of streamlining the issue, henceforth every person with an ASD diagnosis under the new DSM-5 will be referred to as Spectrumy.  (Also, we now own that term and everyone who uses it will have to pay us royalties.)

The next phrases to go will be high-functioning and low-functioning.  These descriptions are very misleading, since it is clearly possible for an autistic person to function well in certain areas and very poorly in others. (Almost as though their skills are spread out over a SPECTRUM!)  I’ve noticed that autistics almost never use that term, but parents of autistics use it all the time when discussing our children.  We pretend that we are trying to give an accurate portrayal of our child’s skill set, but really we are just trying to make our lives look better in comparison, so from now on the terms high-functioning and low-functioning will be abolished and replaced with the phrase At least my kid is better than yours. It’s more honest, admit it.

The acronyms are out of control. We’ll start by renaming the special diets. From now on, all the kids that are GF, CF, SF, SCD, LO or GAPS will now simply be referred to as hungry.

There is a lot of debate about the definition of NT. Is NT simply anybody who isn’t diagnosed Spectrumy? Is a kid truly NT if he is ADD, ADHD, PDD, SPD, OCD, ODD, OMFG, OMFG-NOS?  There’s too much disparity here, so from now on everyone who isn’t spectrumy will fall into three distinct neurological categories.

• TNT Totally Neurotypical.  These kids have no outstanding neurological differences and nobody needs to blog about them ever for any reason.
• nT nearly typical. These kids are quirky, possibly BAP, but it’s OK because they will someday be rich engineers and software designers and so we don’t need to worry about them once they hit college.
• SOUPY All the kids who have letters will fall into this alphabet soup category, and as such they will be given supports, accommodations, and the secret passcode to the ASD Clubhouse.

Neurological diversity – from left to right

Most importantly, we have to retire the terms fix, cure, and recover. These words cause a lot of controversy in the community.  Autistic adults hate those words. They don’t want to be fixed or cured.  They say autism never goes away, and they probably know…what with having it and all. They do however say it is ok –desirable even- to “relieve the symptoms of autism”. (If you’re scratching your head and wondering what the hell the difference is, don’t worry, it’s awfully subtle.)  Whatever. To save feelings and end the conflict, we will get rid of those words.  From now on everybody who “gets better” will be known as refurbished.  When you buy a refurbished iPhone you don’t really care how it’s wired on the inside, you just care that it works. Same deal with the parents…we don’t care if somebody wants to define themselves by their neurology; we only want our children to be comfortable and independent and healthy.

Even though we nitpick the vocabulary, our goals are almost the same. Let’s just get rid of the old words so we can stop squabbling and focus on the big picture, namely making the world a better place for all people with autism.

We really need to stop getting lost in the details.

You threw a pan on the range
Don’t ask me, I’ll never change
I looked to you to explain
and now you say, no way

I’d trade my soul for a dish
Pizza, fries, even fish
I wasn’t looking for this
but now you say, no way

Your stare was holdin’, dinner’s over, no more mowin’
Next meal, never knowin’
Where you think you’re going, Lady?
[Chorus]

Hey, I just bugged you
and this is crazy,
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

It’s hard to look right
at you, Mommy
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

Hey, I just bugged you
and this is crazy,
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

And all the other boys
try to pace me,
but here’s my food plate,
so feed me, maybe?
[Verse 2]

You took your time with the food
I took no time giving ‘tude
You gave me nothing too good
but still you say, no way

I beg and borrow and steal,
at first sight and it’s real
I didn’t know I would feel it,
hunger’s in my way

Your stare was holdin’, dinner’s over, no more mowin’
Next meal, never knowin’
Where you think you’re going, Lady?
[Chorus]

Hey, I just bugged you
and this is crazy,
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

It’s hard to look right
at you, Mommy
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

Hey, I just bugged you,
and this is crazy,
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

And all the other boys,
try to pace me,
but here’s my food plate,
so feed me, maybe?

Before I came into your life
the food bill was low
it was so low
it was so, so low

Before I came into your life
the food bill was low
And you should know that
it’s never going back

It’s hard to look right
at you, Mommy
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

Hey, I just bugged you,
and this is crazy,
but here’s my plate now,
so feed me, maybe?

And all the other boys,
try to pace me,
but here’s my food plate,
so feed me, maybe?

Before I came into your life
the food bill was low
the food bill was low
it was so, so low

Before I came into your life
you wanted kids bad
And you should know that

So feed me, maybe?

My sons’ year-round costume.

I hate Halloween. Well, not really, but it’s the one holiday that’s totally dependent on interacting with the community, and that’s not really our strong suit. I have never tried to take my sons trick-or-treating, but when we go on regular neighborhood walks there are dozens of tiny pitfalls that can derail the entire excursion and that’s without the stress of cars, crowds, or darkness. They also get really mad when we go to people’s front doors and then don’t go inside. I’m not sure if a piece of candy will be enough to circumvent that, either.

We skipped the usual Halloween events this year because my children are party-intolerant, so that just leaves manning the front door for the other Halloweeners. While this activity doesn’t seem to bother them, it certainly adds to my anxiety. For one thing, they see all these kids at our door, holding bags of candy wide open with expectation, and naturally assume it’s an offering to them. When they invariably help themselves, it always leads to confusion and outrage for both parties.

There’s also an issue with keeping pants on. And sometimes licking the candy before handing it over. And slamming the door in people’s faces. And, you get the idea. So while it’s easier than going door-to-door ourselves, it’s still problematic.

If any of this sounds familiar to you, I’ve created a decision-making flowchart to help you figure out where you should invest your Halloween energy. Personally, I’m leaning towards going to bed at 6:00 and sleeping until November.

]]> http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/31/lick-or-treat/feed/ 8 oohsparklee Cap'n Tighty Whities Halloween flow chart http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/24/please-dont-feed-the-trolls/ http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/24/please-dont-feed-the-trolls/#comments Wed, 24 Oct 2012 14:47:26 +0000 Erica http://laughingthroughtears.com/?p=1467 Continue reading »

I find Ann Coulter just as offensive as most everyone else does, and her recent comment on Twitter referring to President Obama as the R-word was disgusting, but I just can’t get all in an uproar about it because it’s just too exhausting to hate that woman. She is an equal-opportunity offender, yet I’ve never taken to social media to protest her comments in the past, and so it feels self-serving to do it now just because this time she’s taken a shot at the special needs (my own) community.

It’s not even the first time she’s done it, either. Despite the cries for her termination from the network, I highly doubt Fox News is going to fire her for this latest slur: It’s what she does. It’s why they hired her in the first place. Face it, she is a professional troll with good hair, and what is the first rule of the Internet? Do NOT feed the trolls. Ignore her. She loves this shit.

I have seen concerns voiced that now that she has bandied the R-word about that people will think it’s acceptable to use that word. I highly doubt it. If anything, I think she has made it more clear to anyone who was still unsure that it is not okay to use that word, except for her supporters, and they are a lost cause anyway.

People have suggested boycotting Fox News in an attempt to get Coulter fired. It’s a lovely idea, but one that’s not likely to succeed. Here’s the problem: Ann Coulter is an Asshole. I’ve capitalized that because I truly believe it’s a cultural group with its own common history and language. Fox News is an organization that is permeated with Assholes and has a work culture that promotes and rewards Asshole behavior. Therefore, they are never going to drop this woman, especially if she’s pissing off liberals.

Allow me to share my philosophy on all these social media blitzes about the latest outrage du jour: I am a stressed-out woman who has a compromised immune system, as well as two young, autistic children who need me to focus on the here-and-now, here and now. In the interest of saving time and keeping cortisol levels low, when it comes to this type of stuff, I keep it simple and employ some basic tenants of the book, The No Asshole Rule. Specifically, the “Satan’s Cesspool Strategy” which has two main components for keeping mental and physical health intact, while also getting necessary work done (or in this case, striving for social change). Reframing, or changing how you see things, and developing indifference and emotional detachment. These techniques are actually rooted in cognitive behavior therapy and are used to counsel victims of bullying, among other things.

I first learned to develop a sense of  ”detached concern” or “detached objectivity” as a coping mechanism for all of the human suffering I witnessed on a near-daily basis in my career as a professional nurse. It’s the art of balancing compassion with emotional distance. No small feat, I realize, especially in cases where people feel their community is being disrespected, marginalized, and dehumanized.

I’m not suggesting that we stop caring about the larger picture of disability rights, but rather that we shift our focus off of Ann Coulter and other hate mongers and onto other more productive endeavors.  The Assholes of the world are not going to change, so lets focus on the people who still can. I think one of the most effective tools so far has been the Spread the Word to End the Word campaign, which creatively focuses energy and resources onto connecting to the greater good in people. People whose hearts are not yet shriveled and black– the youth of today.

So for all our talk of Awareness, Acceptance, and Accommodation, we would be wise to also remember the fourth A-word: Assholes. Otherwise known as, They Who Must Be Ignored. Or, in the more eloquent words of Walt Whitman, just “Dismiss whatever insults your soul.”

]]> http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/24/please-dont-feed-the-trolls/feed/ 24 oohsparklee Anne Coulter is a lamprey troll http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/22/you-like-us-you-really-like-us/ http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/22/you-like-us-you-really-like-us/#comments Mon, 22 Oct 2012 16:16:53 +0000 Lisa http://laughingthroughtears.com/?p=1456 Continue reading »

]]> The following clip is of an interview we recently did with Shannon Penrod, host of the webshow Autism Live.

“Autism Live is an interactive webshow providing support, resources, information, facts, entertainment and inspiration to parents, teachers and practitioners working with children on the Autism Spectrum.” You can check them out at http://www.autism-live.com/ where they are live from 10am – Noon PST M-F, with rebroadcasts airing the remaining hours of the day.

*Any agents interested in engaging us for future promotional opportunities should contact Abbott the Cat for representation information.

]]> http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/10/22/you-like-us-you-really-like-us/feed/ 0 lisa0316

However, as the fourth quarter of our 2012 blogging year commences, Lisa and I have reviewed our annual goals and find that we still have one major objective to meet. You see, the one stat that surprised and humbled us the most was that we had readership on every major continent in the world… All except for Antarctica.

Where’s Antarctica? No, really, where is it?

Dear Readers, can you help us make our dream of conquering the seventh continent a reality? We just need ONE person in Antarctica to click on our page; they don’t even have to read our blog. Although, with all of those scientists and engineers at the bases, there’s bound to be somebody down there who has a connection to autism, right? Also, I started researching the American bases down there, and the folks seem pretty cool. They drink a lot, and order stuff off Amazon.com and then get pissed when it doesn’t arrive. I’ll bet they’d help us.

Look, they even have the internets!

So maybe you know a sexy, murder-investigating US Marshal, or are acquainted with the penguins from Happy Feet? Second-cousin-twice-removed from Paul Walker? We’ll take anyone, so please, circulate this request far and wide. And remember, in 2012 it’s “Forward! Believe in Antarctica!”

What do I care if icicles form? Baby, I’ve got Paul Walker to keep me warm…

*No penguins were harmed in the making of this blog post.

9. We’ve pissed off the lifeguards at every local pool.

8. The kids are staying up so late that it swings back around to being early again.

7. The garden hose has run dry.

6. Our husbands are exhausted from all the overtime they worked to avoid coming home.

5. Our patience is drier than the hose.

4. Our friends are sick of hosting non-reciprocal play dates and have stopped returning our calls.

3. We’ve used up all of our frequent flyer miles taking mini vacations to get away from our kids. However, we’ve spent enough money on gas, drive-thru food, and wine to earn them all back again.

2. At least two of our children are wanted for questioning by the authorities.

1. They’re even more sick of us than we are of them.

Getting a shot of all four kids holding still and looking into the camera is more elusive than capturing a hummingbird surfing barrels during a meteor shower.

Today I don’t feel like doing anything
I just wanna lay on my couch
Don’t feel like driving kids around, don’t wanna leave my house
‘Cause today I swear I’m not doing anything

I’m gonna kick my feet up, then stare at my glass
Turn the hose on, kiddie pool on the grass
Nobody’s gon’ tell me I can’t

I’ll be lounging on the chaise, just chilling in my yard
It’s Camp Lazy Mom and I’m the one in charge
‘Cause in my castle, I’m the freaking queen

Oh yes, I said it, I said it
I said it ’cause I can

Today I don’t feel like doing anything
I just wanna lay on my couch
Don’t feel like driving kids around, don’t wanna leave my house
‘Cause today I swear I’m not doing anything
Nothing at all, nothing at all

Tomorrow I’ll wake up, send the kids to summer school
Four hours of free babysitting is really super cool
And then I’m gonna scream out
This is great
(Oh my god, this is great)

Yeah, I might mess around
Get some lunch with my friends
Make the most of this time before it all ends
And sorry chores, you’ll just have to wait

Oh yes, I said it, I said it
I said it ’cause I can

Today I don’t feel like doing anything
I just wanna lay on my couch
Don’t feel like driving kids around, don’t wanna leave my house
‘Cause today I swear I’m not doing anything

No, we ain’t gonna comb our hair
‘Cause we ain’t going anywhere
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no

Kids’ll just strut in their birthday suits
And let everything hang loose
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Oh, today I don’t feel like doing anything
I just wanna lay on my couch
Don’t feel like driving kids around, don’t wanna leave my house
‘Cause today I swear I’m not doing anything

Nothing at all
Nothing at all
Nothing at all

So, absolutely everybody has been blogging about the Zombie Apocalypse (which is real) and what we should be doing about it, but it occurs to me that no one has really discussed how those of us with autistic children are going to navigate the post-Zombie Apocalypse world.

I actually started thinking about this very subject clear back when The Walking Dead television series premiered in 2010, so I’m probably way ahead of the rest of you. Since time is now of essence, I will share with you what I’ve come up with thus far:

• Start deprogramming all of their social skills training now. I know, this one will cut like a knife– all that effort and money down the drain, but it’s do-or-die time. This means a complete reversal of everything they’ve learned up till now: hitting, kicking, and biting (hmm, okay, maybe not biting) are now GOOD. Use a social story if you have to.

Zombies are NOT our friends.

• Silence is the new black. No more speech therapy, effective immediately. Use Inside Voice outside. Go back to using PECS if you must. This one will take the most reinforcement of all, so bring out your child’s personal Holy Grail of reinforcers. I have gummy bears à gogo packed and ready for my kids.

• Modify/repurpose stims. Add roundhouse kicks to spinning; change tapping to the Double Tap; have them line up hand grenades instead of toy cars; if they always insist on having identical, equally weighted objects in each hand, swap out the Star Wars action figures for throwing stars or katana swords… and so on.

• Redouble all efforts to curb inappropriate peeing and spitting– body fluids attract the undead like dogs on deer pee.

• Second only to running away, hiding quietly is the new most important life skill. Again, all former training must be unlearned as outlined previously. For sensory-input-seeking children, use weighted ghillie suits to ensure highest probability of survival.

***

I feel like I’m leaving something very important out… what am I forgetting? How will you prepare your autistic children for the Zombie Apocalypse? Your urgent attention to this matter is required– it’s spreading westward, you know.

My sons have been in a K-2 Life Skills classroom for the past two years and next year will be their final year, not only in this classroom, but at this school. They have this really amazing teacher, and they’ve come in on target for so many of their goals that I really think we can push them a lot further during this final year. This is why I decided we should work exclusively on life skills of neurotypical kids from the movies and television.

Understandably, I didn’t want to share this with anyone during IEP Open Season due to extremely limited educational resources, but now that we’ve finalized our plan I can finally share some of the highlights.

2012-2013 IMDb IEP For Carson & Cannon

Measurable Annual Goal:

1. Adapted Physical Education Skills/ Carol Ann and Robbie from Poltergeist: Carson will improve critical elements of selected fundamental motor skills.

Measurable Short-Term Objectives:

• Given verbal cues only, Carson will be able to stay out of The Light 95% of attempts. Given verbal cues and physical prompts as needed, Carson will go into The Light 5% of remaining opportunities.
• Given verbal cues and side-by-side peer participation, and adult prompts as needed, Carson will be able to successfully ward off menacing clown dolls and grabby tree limbs with 85% independence.

Go into The Light, Carson! They have gummy bears!

Measurable Annual Goal:

2. Daily Living Skills/ Kevin from Home Alone: Cannon will increase his levels of independence in the areas of daily living skills by his next annual review date.

Measurable Short-Term Objectives:

• When adults go on vacation and “accidentally” leave Cannon behind, he will complete daily living routines such as, but not limited to; taking care of the cat, feeding himself something other than Goldfish crackers for meals, and pooping in the potty with 80% independence.
• When provided with a visual schedule and a prearranged reinforcement system, Cannon will maintain current home security plan and fend off dim-witted intruders with 75% accuracy.

I forgot about the freaking cat!

Measurable Annual Goal:

3. Academics/ Carl from The Walking Dead: Carson will increase his academic readiness skills in the areas of receptive identification of words and pictures by his next annual review date.

Measurable Short-Term Objectives:

• When provided with a zombie-free work setting, Carson will receptively identify pictures of common survival items (makeshift weapons, edible plants, etc.) found in a post-zombie apocalypse world with 75% accuracy out of an array of three.
• When provided with a zombie-free work setting and a reinforcement system, Carson will match known pictures to words out of an array of three (e.g., identifying when to stay in the house; when to not leave the house; and most importantly, returning to the damn house immediately) with 75% accuracy.

Measurable Annual Goal:

4. Social, Speech and Language/ Cole from The Sixth Sense: Cannon will increase his self-regulation skills and pro-social school behaviors, and increase his functional communication skills by meeting the following short-term objectives by his next annual review date.

Measurable Short-Term Objectives:

• Cannon will independently use multi-modal communication (gestures, verbalizations, pictures, etc.) to communicate with adults, peers, and dead people in 75% of opportunities.
• When provided with a highly structured activity, Cannon will take turns interacting appropriately with peers, Bruce Willis, and other dead people with full or partial prompting from said dead people and/or independently.

I lick dead people.

***

I didn’t meet with as much resistance from The Team as you might have imagined, although my husband and I actually had a small disagreement about specially designed instruction when after reading over my draft he pointedly observed, “Don’t you think that just having The Goonies on here would effectively serve ALL of our goals?”

“Pfft. Please,” I snorted. “The Goonies is WAY too advanced for second graders! All of those kids are at least junior-high age!” I swear, it’s like he doesn’t pay any attention at all during these meetings…

Second grade is going to be an outstanding year for these two! Here’s hoping all of your own IEP dreams come true, as well.

After a few years’ worth of disappointments, we give up on Hope in a Jar. We turn to Apathy in a Can.™ It’s cheaper, more practical, and we don’t risk having our dreams crashed in when it turns false. It takes a while to wash the false hope out of your system, but once you do then you can be so much more receptive to the real thing.

Reading Carly’s Voice: Breaking Through Autism by Arthur and Carly Fleischmann is a bit like Hope in a Jar; the title alone suggests a promise of something wonderful inside if you just take that leap of faith, but unlike all those false promises we’ve bought into in the past, this feels like the genuine article; Real Authentic Hope, and something we can all truly believe in.

The story is that of Carly Fleischmann, a young girl severely affected by autism, and told predominantly from the viewpoint of her father. He begins by taking the reader through what he describes as “climbing the well-greased ladder” of receiving an autism diagnosis and diving head first into the sea of treatment options.

Parents will immediately relate to Arthur and Tammy Fleischmann, because their story is our story in so many ways. He grabs us in the prologue by describing a frantic search for a missing seven-year-old Carly, only to find her at a park a few blocks from their house, happily stimming with no clothes on and being stared at by a neighbor. For people who don’t live with autism, this sort of story seems outrageous. For those of us that do, this is practically commonplace, and we immediately accept him as one of “our people” who “gets it”.  Mothers and fathers will find themselves nodding in agreement at the gritty, heartbreaking accuracy of the details of a typical day raising a profoundly autistic child.

There are many long hard years of intensive therapy for Carly with very little to show for it outwardly. Her inner terrain is an unknown mystery for the better part of her childhood. Not only do we read her father’s accounts, but we also get to peer into her medical files and see what the professionals’ impressions were. By every account, this was a girl deeply locked inside of her autism.

But then, hope begins to bloom when an eleven-year-old Carly amazes everyone and types a now-famous message (“HELP TEETH HURT”) to her therapists. Those initial three words (and the gazillion that followed afterward) were the confirmation of what so many parents always believed (and in our darkest moments might have doubted) but could never prove; that these children have an inner voice and they’re highly aware of their surroundings.

After this, Carly begins to take over the telling of her own story. She answers some of the questions people have posed to her over the years, providing us with a Rosetta Stone into the mind of a young person with autism and sharing her insights with those of us on the outside who so desperately try to understand. When Carly is asked if she thinks what she can do is a miracle, she says no, it just took a lot of time and hard work. With every word Carly writes, she reminds us that she is an intelligent, beautiful, and wickedly funny young lady with an awful lot to say, and she’s not an anomaly – all of our children are in there, just looking for a way to tell us about it. They’re not selling us a cure, they’re showing us how much we already have. Now that’s hopeful.

The timing of this story’s release couldn’t be more perfect; never before have the two historically divided camps of parents of autistic children and autistic adult advocates needed to find a way to peacefully co-exist than now, and this book seamlessly blends those two viewpoints into one cohesive story.

We highly recommend this one. It will help you to have a better understanding of what’s going on inside your kids’ minds, it will help you appreciate the world that will open to your own children soon, and it will really make you crave chips, so you should probably pick up a bag when you buy the book.

Happy reading!

(Yes we can!)

GIVEAWAY

We have one copy of Carly’s Voice to give away. If you would like to qualify, just leave a comment here. A winner will be chosen randomly on May 24, at noon, Pacific Time.

———————————————
Read an excerpt: http://www.scribd.com/doc/81879038/Carly-s-Voice-Breaking-Through-Autism-by-Arthur-Fleischmann-with-Carly-Fleischmann

Watch the book trailer: http://youtu.be/N1WVzG8HHlc

Visit Carly’s Website: http://carlysvoice.com/

Follow Carly on Facebook & Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/CarlysVoice

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Carly-Fleischmann/68996682748

Carly’s Voice: Breaking Through Autism by Arthur Fleischmann with Carly Fleischmann

Please stop telling me that I don’t love my children. It’s sort of judgmental, considering how you’ve never met me. And while you’re at it, please stop telling me that I’m a bad parent. That’s just a given.

April’s been a harsh month. It felt like everybody with an internet connection decided to honor Autism Awareness/Acceptance/Ambivalence Month by gracing us with their opinions about how badly we’re ruining our kids. I’ve personally been told that I hate my children if I hate autism because I am unleashing my own anger and frustration down on their unwitting little heads, and I’ve also been told that I hate my children if I don’t hate autism because it means I’ve totally given up on them. Apparently I am simultaneously doing too much and not enough therapy to help them (because it is both a complete waste and utterly necessary), and every form of intervention I have ever tried has damaged them, but not nearly as much as I have damaged them by not doing everything. And don’t even get me started about how badly I screw them up by taking them to the doctor and giving them a multivitamin and letting them eat bread!

Basically, all autism moms (and dads) are doing everything entirely wrong and we all need attitude adjustments. (This is why it takes me months to write new blog posts, I’m always so exhausted from all the effort I put into destroying my family.)

What is it about the ASD community that we constantly need to over-react and project our personal issues onto everybody else? I get that we’re all teetering on the edges of nervous breakdowns, but does anyone else see the irony of demanding acceptance from the rest of the world while we constantly beat each other into submission for daring to disagree?

What about if we all just take a second and put things into perspective for a change? What if we stop being so defensive and acknowledge that we probably are bad parents sometimes? Accept it, embrace it, OWN IT! Maybe it’s ok to mess up our kids a little bit.

Let’s face it, we’re all lousy parents sometimes, but so were our parents before us, and their parents before them. Messing up kids is a birthright. My parents totally screwed me up. Every issue I have is 100% the fault of either my mother or father. Between the two of them I have procrastination issues, weird phobias, body issues, poor self-esteem, avoidance behaviors, and they never once bought me that pony that I so desperately needed. But they were still amazingly loving parents who did the best they could with what they had to work with, just like I’m trying to do now. Like we’re all trying to do.

I guarantee that everybody reading this got messed up by their moms (and dads, everyone always gets so mad at me for leaving out the dads) in some way. And what if that’s alright? What if getting messed up by your parents is just a matter of growing up? I’m pretty confident that I’m not damaging my kid any more than a typical parent does hers. We always say we want our kids to have NT experiences, right? Well, getting your head screwed up by your mom and dad is one of them. Maybe crappy parenting is a spectrum disorder, and we just need to aim to mess them up less than usual. Imagine it’s a bell curve and we want to hit between the 40th and 60th percentile for inflicted psychological damage.

So let’s stop hating on the autism parents, shall we? I propose that everyone stops telling us that we are poisoning our children when we medicate them (if your child has diabetes you don’t campaign for pancreas-diversity, you just give them insulin) or that we’re crushing their spirits when we prevent them from licking trashcans or stimming in the freeway. Maybe we should be allowed to bitch a little bit in a safe environment instead of bottling it all up until we either drink a Hemlock Martini or murder our entire family. Maybe we should all just calm the hell down and acknowledge that we don’t suck nearly as bad as the internet tells us that we do. Maybe we could start to trust that most parents actually do love their children. It’s crazy, I know.

Let’s take eleven months to think about it.

And one day our children will go on to screw up their children, and the circle of life continues…

]]> http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/04/30/crappy-parenting-is-a-spectrum-disorder/feed/ 62 lisa0316 Image http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/03/07/scouting-in-spectrumville-keep-your-powder-and-your-pants-dry/ http://laughingthroughtears.com/2012/03/07/scouting-in-spectrumville-keep-your-powder-and-your-pants-dry/#comments Wed, 07 Mar 2012 16:25:25 +0000 Erica http://laughingthroughtears.com/?p=1117 Continue reading »

Recently my sons’ teacher asked me if I had given any thought to enrolling them in the Cub Scouts, since they are in the first grade and that’s when scouting starts. Bless her heart, she’s in her second year of changing their pee-pee pants, but still, she asked. I responded with a snort.

For those who don’t know, my own experience with Girl Scouts began and ended in the second grade. I actually got kicked out of Brownies. Shocking, I know. I was irreverent, disruptive, and only in it for the refreshments anyway.  Yes, that’s really me.

I don’t think my husband was ever a scout, but I know his sister also got the boot from Brownies, so my kids have scoutal insubordination working against them from both sides.

The truth is, my boys could never do traditional boy scouts, what with all that helping old ladies across the street business, because this is them… all the time:   Nope, I’d have to start my own troop. A branch of the Cub Scouts just for boys on the more severely affected end of the spectrum… the Tasmanian Devils!

So, here we have the existing boy scout ranks:

They’re all den animals, and all have various connotations of bad-assdom; the Tiger Cub being the starting point in first grade.

Now, allow me to introduce the proposed update for 2012:

But wait, there’s more:

 Revised, Autism-Inclusive, Boy Scout Oath

On my honor, I will do my best
To keep my pants on and to obey the Scout Law;
To respect other people’s boundaries at all times;
To keep myself physically subdued, mentally stabilized, and verbally appropriate.

Revised Boy Scout Motto for Autistic-Americans

Be Prepared (bring Pull-ups)!

Revised Y-Chromasome-Scout Slogan for the Spectrumentally-challenged

Lick long and prosper.

Before a cub scout can become a boy scout he must master the WEBELOS rank. Likewise, the Tasmanian Devil Cub Scouts would also need to master WEBELOS (We Be Licking Other Scouts) before they could go onto their Boy Scout rank of Honey Badger, which is like a Tasmanian Devil only more impertinent.

As it turns out, WEBELOS lends itself very naturally to autism. Take a look at these accomplishments:

To make this even easier to achieve in the Autism Scouts, we will celebrate what these kiddos already do best:

Obviously, if I’m starting an entire branch of the Cub Scouts, it stands to reason I’ll be the Head Den Mother In Charge. Historically, I have two basic choices in Den Mother attire to choose from:

Nixon-era Carol Brady chic.

OR

Early 21st Century Den MILF (if you like it then you shoulda put a badge on it).

I’m betting the second option would help me earn my Silver Beaver more quickly, but I’m opting instead for a uniform consisting of a roomy 2008 Autism Walk-A-Thon t-shirt, yoga pants, and a rhinestone tiara. This is already my current SAHM uniform, but will now be classied up by the new designation, and will thus finally be deemed acceptable for wearing out in public. Score!

In conclusion, if you think the Autism Scouts sounds like a good fit for your son, come to our inaugural troop meeting tonight at 7:00. The refreshments will be breathtaking.

*No Boy Scouts were harmed in the making of this blog post.

**All photos ripped off from various websites about scouting and stuff.

]]>

I don’t need them to recover from autism, I don’t need them to live independently when they grow up, I don’t even need them to ever learn to talk; I just need them to stop shitting on the carpet. Pleasegodthankyouamen. See? Simple.

And the thing is, they can. They have, even. About once a month they will actually go into the bathroom and drop a deuce in the toilet, completely independently. Nonchalantly. Just often enough to give me hope. And so we continue with the endless clothing changes, and the carpet steaming upstairs and the wet mopping downstairs, and the PECs, and the social stories, and the iPad apps, and the rewards, and absolutely no pull-ups in the daytime except on long road trips, and not always even then. We’re getting there. They’re essentially potty-trained as far as urine goes, so there really is reason to hope… right? Right?

I try to be positive, but it’s SO hard when I’m awakened at o’dark:30 to a squawking child banging out a piano concerto, only to enter his room and find that he’s pooped absolutely everywhere. And the school bus is coming in half an hour. And his brother has just done the exact same thing in his own room (except he doesn’t have a keyboard).

If I’m lucky, this only happens once a day. If I’m not, it can be 6-8 separate incidents. How is it possible that two people that small can crap that much in one day? There’s no predicting it, either. I live in a war zone of uneasiness. A successfully productive mission to the bathroom is still no guarantee that I won’t happen upon a landmine ten minutes later.

Just this morning, after I had taken both boys to the bathroom, so joyful because they both peed on cue, I went downstairs and stepped off the last stair into a rogue puddle of urine so large it had its own sound effect. Wailing, I rolled up my splashed pantlegs and sprinted into the laundry room for a towel, only to be met with an area rug covered in… you guessed it.

My husband rounded the corner to see what I was yelling about, took one look at my face and announced, “I’ll take the boys out for a long walk… Now.”

“It’s hard not to hope that the Mayans are going to be right about 2012,” I call after him.

Gallows humor aside, this is hard for me. Like, on my psyche hard. If I really, truly thought they wouldn’t get it, the whole potty-training thing, I would just put them back in diapers for good. Permanently. Really, I would be crushed, but I’d deal with it, just like I deal with everything else that life dishes out for my sons. I just don’t know if I will recognize that point when (if) we get to it, though. At what age do we throw in the towel and say this just isn’t going to happen– 10? 16? 21?

I don’t want to give up on my sons. They are so smart– I see so much intelligence when I look into their eyes as I speak to them. I know they understand so much. I know they understand why I’m angry when I have to clean up yet another mess. I see them try, in their own way, by at least going into the bathroom and doing it on the floor in there. They get it. I know they do. And so, we continue.

But this house isn’t big enough for both the carpet and me. One of us has got to go.

They were out of the “chronically naked little boy” formula, so I just got this kind.

“When you reach the bottom line
The only thing to do is climb
Pick yourself up off the floor
Don’t know what you’re waiting for” –Big Audio Dynamite

If you (like I) have a child who considers the annual peeing on the tree to be a part of the holiday traditions, here’s a social story for you.  (It’s a cheap re-gift, we know.)

Last Christmas you peed on my tree, the very next day it wilted away. This year, to save me from tears, I'm getting an ar-ti-ficial...

This holiday season may your dreams come true and may your tree stay urine-free!

Merry Christmas from Laughing Through Tears!

Love,

Lisa and Erica