Kelly Harland, A will of his Own

‘Reflections on parenting a child with autism.’

Firstly I must declare my bias. In recent years I have come to love the genre of the short story. "Kelly’s" delightful book is a series of vinettes. Perfect bite sized pieces of autism. Easily digestible in small doses for those of us who are short on time. My copy is the "revised" edition. I imagine that many of them could be read independently and out of sequence as each one stands in it’s own right. I’m guessing of course but I can see how these pieces could easily be read aloud. In ‘A will of his own’ the author’s melodic tones capture snapshots of her son from his early days and onwards as he grows and develops into a young man. It’s no accident that Kelly is a "musician" as her voice as a writer comes over as a warm and affectionate melody. To be frank I find it difficult to be dispassionate and impartial about the subject of autism because of my own personal experiences. However, I believe Kelly’s writing style clearly exposes a picture of her son that is accessible to everyone. I have a keen eye for jargon and technical language as it can be off-putting to those not in the know, but her words and use of language merely flowed to tell a story in context. It is a slim volume full of delicate, poignant insights but with the strength of powerfully honed reality.

It is available from "Jessica Kingsley Publishers" and "Amazon" just to name just a couple.

A Regular Guy by Laura Shumaker, a book review

Spoiler:




This is not a book where everyone lives happily ever after.

If you write and publish a book about your personal life you automatically expose yourself to criticism. If you write an accurate and honest account of your personal life, warts and all, you expose yourself to even greater criticism. So I shall be the first to launch the attack.

But let’s back up a bit. Let’s be frank here. There are so many books on the subject of autism, a deluge, that it’s sometimes hard to spot the good ones. These days I positively avoid reading anything about autism as I am heartily sick to death of all the tales of woe and misery. I also dislike warped distortions of autism where everything is fun and games. I’m looking for balance and realism.

But I digress. Back to Laura and her book “A Regular Guy,” growing up with autism, a family’s story of love and acceptance.

It’s a promising start.

The book starts at the beginning and the story gradually develops chronologically but before too long, it becomes all too obvious:-

Laura is a big ol’ cry baby!

There!

It seems that every few pages she bursts into tears. She doesn’t know the meaning of ‘emotionally repressed,’ or if she does, she certainly doesn’t put it into practice. But that’s because Laura is a good sharer and a truth teller, a fairly heady combination. Bear in mind that every few pages represents a skip in time which considerably reduces her ‘year per weeping ratio,’ especially if you compare it to her ‘laughter per day ratio.’ She has cartloads of that too. More importantly, her ready wit, private asides and singular voice must surely touch even the most callous of readers, such as myself.

I suspect I know the reason why Laura is apt to blub so often. I’d posit an idea that doesn’t receive much air time. It goes like this:- you become a parent of a child and have great expectations. Sometime after that you become a parent with different expectations. Sometimes that transition merely warrants a one liner for some parents.

Good luck to them.

Others share their journey of a life time, in many chapters. As often as not, this is captured in the term ‘emotional rollercoaster.’ Thus far all is well and good, within our range of comprehension. The bit that’s left out, is the everything else. Everything else isn’t just family, friends and community, it is just that, the everything else. The autism experience does not exist in a vacuum, the roller coaster is in full swing, but the world keeps turning. There are jobs and careers, commitments, finance, paperwork, all the daily detritus of life either piling up or dealt with. Either way the pressure is on and doesn’t let up. The cliché of the human existence is that at the end of the day we dwell upon the things we did not do, or the things we could have done better or that we did badly, before it all begins again the next day. These days go on forever because we cannot escape life to focus on autism exclusively. Autism has to fit in with everything else and often it doesn’t.

It is the ability to live in these two worlds at the same time, to help them fit together better that takes determination, strength and stamina. This is what parental responsibility is all about, we have to be grown ups. As grown ups we juggle all these different things, we manage, and some people excel. In the midst of the permanent juggling act, something additional falls into the mix, something tiny, something huge, something unexpected and you have a choice, burst into tears or laugh your head off. The ability to do either or sometimes both, is the path to survival and Laura demonstrates this with perfection. It’s hard to encapsulate life with autism, but this may be as close a picture as possible.

Spoiler :-
This is a book were everyone continues to live their lives to the fullest.

Available from "Amazon" with more details "here." Here's a less biased "review."

This Lovely Life by Vicki Forman

A memoir of premature motherhood

I have done my very best since day one to consistently complain and grumble about autism. Indeed I would go so far as to suggest that I have reached a certain degree of expertise on the subject, on moaning that is, rather than autism.

I remember quite clearly the moment that my world fell apart. It happened on quite an ordinarily autistic day in the park, when all of a sudden my son fell out of the play structure onto his head. As he vomited in the Emergency Room and they wheeled him away for an MRI the nurse told me to ‘brace myself.’ Instead of having an autistic child I was threatened with a replacement, a seriously physically and mentally ill child. Without question it was the most sobering moment of my life.

When the nurse returned, much, much later, she told me she had never seen anything like it, outstanding, remarkable. In all her twenty years as a nurse. He was back from the brink. I had aged a hundred years in those blank, bleak moments. I should never wish to experience anything remotely like it again, ever. After that shocking episode we went on to enjoy robust health and live happily ever after. I cannot conceive of enduring that amount of mental energy for years as Vicki Forman and her family did, when their twins Ellie and Evan were born prematurely. Not only did she experience this pain but she also wrote about it in her book “This Lovely Life.”

I found this a harrowing account of tumultuous chaos but thoroughly absorbing as a reader. It is a tribute to her outstanding and formidable writing style that her book, however ironically, is a true page turner. As a reader, we are safe in the knowledge that the experience of pain is vicarious, not real for us, surreal for her and yet we are drawn further and further in to catch a glimpse of suffering that no-one should ever have to live through. It would be tempting to describe this book as an unrelenting tale of misery but that would be both untrue and a distortion. Every time you think that things cannot get any worse, they do but that is very far from the whole picture. Somehow, by some mercurial quality, Vickie relates their triumphs with pin pricks of startling light that keep us ever hopeful.

My one criticism is a personal one. The book is sprinkled with extracts from the journal she kept during this period of her life. I do not understand why journal entries should be any more poignant than any other writings that create a book but to read those entries was somehow even more excruciating. Maybe it is because reading someone’s memoir appears to grant the reader the permission, provides justification however spurious, to be a fly on the wall, but to read lines from a diary confirms that the reader is an interloper, peeking at someone else’s privacy, a true voyeur.

That said, I should like everyone to read this book, everyone like me and everyone who is different from me, but how to make that happen?

I decided to canvas opinion, male opinion. I asked my husband, a non reader if ever there was one, what drew him to read his annual book? The last book he read was ‘Kon-Tiki: Across the Pacific in a Raft’ by Thor Heyerdahl. Six men on a small raft sail four thousand miles across the Pacific Ocean, from Peru to the Polynesian Islands. I’m inclined to ask ‘why?’ Why set sail in a raft, a small one at that? Why write a book about it? Why would anyone want to read about it? So I ask him my ‘why’s?’
“Because it was a real life and true challenge, because the story was enthralling, absorbing, thought provoking.”
“What if they hadn’t been successful? What if they’d failed? What if the raft had sunk or someone was lost at sea? If tragedy had befallen them, would you still have read and enjoyed the book?”
“Yes?”
“And I know why, because it’s the journey my friend, the journey and that journey will haunt me for a very long time.”




You may wish to read some more about this "book" which you may do so here at "Fully Caffeinated" where "Carrie" asks "Vicki" a few interesting, previously unasked "questions. There is also another independent interview on "Hopeful Parents" by "Christina Shaver."

p.s. There is also a brief interview of Vicki on "ABC."

Figure it out?

Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.lighteningonline.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/smiley-saturday-1.jpg" /></a>

Now this made me very happy after I'd stubbed my bare feet on heaps of abandoned bricks. But I couldn't work out just why they were underneath the table in front of his seat.



Then I shifted gears:- Brake, clutch, accelerator.





"Nonna" and I are gaining "ground."

Half way there?

And where would that be I wonder? And I wonder a lot. There’s a lot of wonder around because we are currently enjoying an abundant harvest of words and phrases. Complicated words and a lot of pithy phrases. As often as not, it’s quite enchanting. I consider myself to be a reasonable conversationalist, given ideal circumstances, but when the ideal circumstances evaporate I find I am on more tricky terrain. The trouble with conversation is that it is so interwoven with social skills. You can have all the right words but unless you’re good at sewing, the effect can be very patchy, though none the less charming.

So we are busy, early in the morning, when words often flow more freely. I gather the troops for breakfast where a heated discussion ensues regarding the inferior menu. I am in mid sentence when my son interjects, “so mom?” I pause for breath and look at him because his eyes and attention are upon me. Such a treat.
“Yes dear?”
“So…….since we’re on the subject of clay….”
Clay? But it’s such a perfect interruption, just the right tone, just the right bright inflection, flawless. “Meet Claydol!” he flourishes as he whips a Pokemon trading card into my field of vision. Sold to the mum with feet of clay in fluffy slippers.

Supercharged

I hold it up so that all 5 of the adults in the house have a clear view.
“See this?”
“Yup. What about it? What is it?”
“Guess?”
“It’s a hose…….vacuum hose.”
“Right.”
“So?”
“If you see it anywhere, anywhere at all, nab it. I need it.”
“?”
“I can’t keep the dog hair and car fur under control without it if the asthmatics are going to survive another 24 hours.”
“?”
“He keeps swiping it. Pulls the hoover out of the closet and takes off the hose.”
“Why? What on earth is he on now?”
“It’s his tail.”
“Tail?”
“He’s still ‘part cat.’”
“What has being ‘part cat’ got to do with taking the vacuum hose?”
“He’s morphed. No longer is he ‘part cat’ now he is ‘robocat. Teamwork! A united front! I need your help!”
“Hmmm…….. pity you can’t whip out his battery when he’s not looking!”


p.s. dear chums and pals, I have searched in vain for blogs where people’s lives are affected by "Alzheimer’s" or "Dementia," admittedly briefly, and do you know what, I can’t find any. A long time ago I doubted that there were any blogs about autism, but of course there are loads. If you happen to come across any blogs on the former topic I should be most grateful if you could tip me off / give me a shove in the right direction as we all know that the support of an online community is a big boost to the morale.

What is that? Indigestible!

I coax my son.

"Have a go. You may just like it."
"Bleah!"
"I know you don't like butter but this is different."
"Bleah!"
"It can count as your new food for the day if you like?"
"Bleah!"
"That's vinegar. Remember you like salt and vinegar crisps now?"
"Bleah!"
"You could have this instead of butter, every night."
"Bleah!"
"It's so much better for you."
"Bleah!"
"And it will help fatten you up."
"Bleah!"
"I thought you said you wanted to be fatter? Didn't we agree?"
"Bleah!"
"Just dip the corner of your bread in. You don't even have to get your fingers dirty."
"Bleah!"
"I don't understand? I thought you were willing to have a go?"
"I wuz."
"Great! Off you go then."
"Not now."
"Why not now?"
"Because......it is different now."
"What's different now?"
"Dah oil and dah vinegar."
"What's different about them now than when they were in the bottle?"
"Dah shaping."
"What shaping?"
"It's bad."
"What's bad?"
"MOM!"
"Yes dear?"
"Don you get it?"
"Er.....no......no I don't get it."
"I cannot be eating of dah parallelogram."
"!"














If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.

How to make a coiled basket

You will need:-
plastic darning needle
rope or washing line
scraps of fabric torn into strips
glue if you're a bad coiler!

It's the beginning bit and the end bit that are the most tricky.




You can find helpful step by step instructions at this site called "craft yarn council" of variations at "Craftypod" as well as variations at "DIY"





Yup short and sweet.



Probably not suitable for younger people but I'm hoping it will prove to be a useful occupational therapy for an older pair of hands.


Hence I'm a couple of Christmas presents ahead and it's only August but I have a suspicion that it's all "downhill" from now "on."

Wish me "luck," I'm going to "need" all the help I can "get."

The family that reads together

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

Onwards and upwards

Conversation can be a little stilted around here despite all the speech therapy, practice and encouragement. Whilst we’re lucky that their receptive language, what they understand, is so much better than their expressive language, what they are able to articulate, it still doesn’t come easy. The latest campaign regarding table manners and prepositions flounders, primarily because by dinner time my ability to make things fun is a bit feeble. On the other hand the reading campaign is an undoubted success. Although they prefer cartoon strips given a choice, it’s a choice that’s just fine by me. That said the new trend is most disconcerting. The new trend consists of expressing emotions verbally, straight from the cartoons. Things like ‘zoinks!’ for I’ve just had a bright idea, together with artificial hand gestures or ‘Ahhh EEEEE’ with bared teeth for ‘you surprised me and worst of all, ‘Sighhhhh’ together with a rapidly deflating body posture that says it all, and more. But we trundle on regardless.

“You see it there?”
Silence.
“The salt cellar?”
Silence.
“NEXT to the pepper, the brown one. See it?”
Silence.
“The white one?”
Silence. I attempt hand gestures for emphasis and clarity but merely achieve air traffic controller status, which is not generally helpful at the dinner table.
“Just BEHIND the water jug?”
“Remember our good table manners about passing things to people who can’t reach?”
Silence.
“You know……so they don’t have to stretch because stretching is rude.”
“Sighhhhhhh…..”
“Could you just reach out your hand to touch it?”
“Wot did your last slave die of?”
“!”

Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.lighteningonline.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/smiley-saturday-1.jpg" /></a>

They have the most fun in here but it wasn't always so.

Shopping allergy - the glass is half empty

Like many other consumers I have a strong aversion to shopping, it practically brings me out in hives. My mother confirms that I have always been a very bad shopper or more accurately, bad company and morose and grumbly, although not necessarily in that order. I think that my first hand experiences of the activity have always been negative. I shop badly therefore I hate shopping or possibly the other way around. That said my family demands, quite unreasonably, that I continue to be the primary shopper even though I continuously demonstrate my miserable failures.

Towit.

Recently after an unexpected spate of independence and “I do it by myself” our glassware collection has suffered. It has suffered to the extent that we were reaching the bottom of the barrel, chipped cups and those without handles. Action time had arrived.

Hence I sallied forth into the tortuous throes of Target wherefore to buy plastic, or some other unbreakable replacements. As usual I was harried, harassed and haunted through the aisles by a wide variety of helpers, some employees and some mere hangers on. Nevertheless I retuned home having achieve task completion and purse emptiness. 8 new plastic glasses for the princely and outrageous sum of $1.99 each. Plus sales tax.

I spent a goodly amount of time removing unremovable labels as anything with a label is guaranteed to cause mayhem. As it turned out the investment was a bust for several different reasons.

Firstly design fault. They have concave bottoms which means that when you turn them upside down in the dish washer they collect water. Secondly, they are brown[ish]. I have recently learned that brown will not do. Whilst it’s not a universal opinion, it’s the majority opinion, 5:3 against.

These two faults, in and of themselves, are not fatal. The third fault is fatal. I witness the third fault as my eldest daughter reasons with my youngest son as he hares across the lawn to escape:-

“Hey come back here! You said you wanted water! Here’s your water!”
“Aghhhhhh.”
“What’s up? There’s no ice in it.”
“Aghhhhhh.”
“Come along now. Use your words. Help me understand. What’s the problem?”
“Bad.”
“It’s not bad it’s straight from the tap. Honest it’s not chilled.”
“Super bad stinky.”
“It’s fresh, really. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Super bad stinky peanut poison.”
“Peanuts?”
“Super bad stinky peanut poison pukey.”
“It’s not. Look! It’s fresh and sparkly and cool and…..”
“Super bad stinky peanut poison pukey so I’m gonna die.”
“I don’t get it? Come on. It’s in this nice new glass.”
“Aghhhhhhhh.”
“Oh……..it’s the glass? What’s wrong with the glass? It’s new. Don’t you like it? I mean…….what’s wrong with the glass, apart from being brown?”
“Dah glass……..is………smelled……super bad stinky peanut poison pukey.” I watch her recoil from the blast of 50 decibels. I watch her sniff the glass. I watch her open her mouth to speak as her little brother curls himself up into an impenetrable nut. She comes back inside and pops the glass on the counter, “do you know what?”
“What dear?”
“He’s absolutely right.”
“!”


p.s. does anyone know of a 'scratch and sniff' plugin or widget?

Disclaimer:- I am currently reading [amongst other things] Laura Shumaker’s ‘A regular Guy,’ Kelly Harland’s ‘A will of his Own,’ and Vicki Forman’s ‘This Lovely Life,’ at the same time. Not in tandem but in tricycle which makes for an especially interesting mind bending experience. I find the comparisons and contrasts between motherhood of a child with serious medical issues quite overwhelming, as that kind of mental torture is of an entirely new order for me. Kelly and Laura’s books on the familiar autism track seems more like a trip down memory lane, much safer territory for those of us who need our sleep.

What kind of idiot would choose to read all three simultaneously?

Me.

I’d like to blame it on happenstance or maybe catch-up, but if truth be told, I am worried about the future, as most parents are. Since I lack a crystal ball, an oversight if ever there was one, instead I make do with glimpses into other people’s future and remain hopeful.

Blogging 101 – how to deal with negative comments?

I have been blogging for far too long now. Because I’m a member of the "Autism Hub," a small yet inclusive group, I have noticed how quickly we can act together from all around the world with an alternative perspective from the mainstream. Negative comments, abuse and criticism are generally infrequent, thankfully. Since I am a technically challenged person, I shall keep my opinions personal.

Every once in a while I too have experienced negative comments. Without exception, the author has always been Anon. Anon is a busy person with strong opinions and anxious to share their superior viewpoint.

When I first started blogging I was very trepidatious, worried that the sword of Damocles would fall on my head. It didn’t. I grew bolder. As I grew in confidence I shared more and more, perhaps too much on some occasions. On one particular occasion I bared my soul to share what I considered to be a poignant moment in our family life, one that had great meaning to me. It was back from when my children had very few words. There were so few words that I actually counted how many words they used in any given day so that I could keep track, so rare, so few, so precious. You can read it here called “cracking the code” if you have a mind, although my style has changed considerably.

There were three comments for that posting and one of them, of course, was from 'Anon' who said 'This child will never have respect for you if you keep your world centered on him.' You can read at the end of the "post.”

When I read that comment I was aghast. It seemed so obscure, so completely off topic and it made me realize how difficult it can be to translate our tiny little lives into something that can be understood by other people, people in the mainstream world. The tiny occurrences in our lives are often momentous, but to other people they are commonplace and not worthy of note. A tricky translation.

At the same time, it also made me realize how far I had deviated from the mainstream world.

Respect!

Respect? Of all the many things that I hope for from my children, I’m afraid that ‘respect’ doesn’t even make it to the list. Originally, pre-birth, I hoped that my children would be happy, healthy and normal. Just that. No more ambitious than that. It’s quite a tall order in today’s world. We have “happy.’ We have ‘healthy.’ ‘Normal’ is only a question of definition.

The cookie wars

A little voice calls me, "Mom! He is fight wiv himself!"







I think perhaps resistance is futile.




If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.

How to Make your Own Mouse

You will need;-
A 12 inch square of felt
Another scrap of felt for the shawl
A scrap of thick yarn for the tail [knot both ends]
stuffing
Two small buttons for eyes [optional]
Sewing thread and needle
Scrap of fabric for the skirt
Scissors





Cut out the shapes in felt from the template
Sew up the back [curved] seam
Insert the stuffing
Stitch the circle on the base inserting the yarn as a tail and check that the mouse stands upright



[Understuffed will produce a concave base which is much more likely to remain standing]

Sew on the buttons [or stitch eyes in place so that it would be safe for a baby]
Stitch the whiskers and ears [folded]
Hem, join and stitch a drawstring runner through the top of the strip
Gather the strip and attach to the middle of the mouse
Cut the scrap of felt into a triangle and snip the edge to make a fringe, stitch in place









Voila!

A Tale of Foolishness:-
The why? Why bother to make your own mouse when you can buy a dozen from Petco at $3.99?

Well as you may recall, currently my son is still at the ‘part cat’ stage of development but loathes the smell of catnip. Anyway whilst we were at Longleat in England he fell in love with a very similar mouse, a mouse manufactured for the princely sum of many pounds sterling. I resisted the purchase and a great pall of gloom descended upon us. The only reason I managed to extract him from Longleat at all, was the faithful promise that I would indeed, given time, produce a mouse. It was so tempting to indulge him especially as he mewed so pitifully but apart from anything else, Longleat’s version was a doorstop and hence it was weighted down with a hefty rock inside, not ideal for international travelers with a weight limit!

In addition, we endure a daily craft during the summer holidays. In this instance we were able to introduce the concept that a sewing needle is not necessarily an instrument of torture but may indeed be the means of achieving the current motivational goal, a mouse. Fine motor skills limitations meant that he was an observer rather than a sewer, but he managed to remain within the same room and peek through his fingers at the scene. Clearly most crafts can be adapted to suit the individual needs of any particular child, but if we achieve joint attention then we’re on a winner, which indeed we did. He was quite happy to stuff the mouse so we did have a little hands on experience.

Of course, if I had been more sensible I would have saved myself a whole heap of bother by not going into the shop in the first place. This is one of the reasons why so many parents of autistic children become hermits, it's just easier that way. However, we continue to venture forth as the easy option is not always available.

Lastly, I know that this kind of parental indulgence frequently evokes criticism, maybe you have been on the receiving end yourself? All I would say is that people who criticize, [usually 'Anon'] generally do not have first hand experience, long term with autistic people. If you actually live with an autistic person who has no interest in anything, or maybe only one or two things, to the exclusion of all other things, then part of a parent’s job is to help expand those interests, gently and gradually. Our job is not to eliminate the one or two special interests, that would certainly be a mistake, unkind and probably cruel. No, instead we offer all and everything that we can think of to tempt them into other things. Given time and encouragement there may just be a tiny little spark and it is those little sparks that ignite us into action, no matter how trivial or obscure. I tell you truly, it’s worth every effort.



This design is available in an out of print book called "My Learn to Sew Book." It is a bit dated but has easy to follow instructions.

I like Tiny

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

My children's life, school life, is enhanced by the professional expertise of wise persons. The wise persons at their school are able to tap into their talents and extract similar abundance from the children, not just mine but all the other unique little individuals.

Recently it was my son's turn, he with an eye for the minutiae of life, in all it's glory. His pockets are always full of teeny, tiny, essential precious things. [when they're not lost!] Hence all the children wrote lists of tiny things





and then drew a picture of one of the tiny things:-





Of course one of the other things that he's frightfully keen on is long handled things but I imagine that's a bit more difficult to manage in a school setting. What a pity those long rulers, belts and whips have been phased out.

‘I am be…..’ - Career Choices for autistic people

This is a little phrase I hear every so often. To be honest, it’s not a phrase that I ever thought I would hear because pretend play didn’t find us for a very long time.

I don’t know your priorities but I would highly recommend the following – keep a list [yes another one] . Stick your piece of paper in the kitchen. Where else [?] and add to it regularly. It makes for a delightful easy splot of nostalgia; ‘what will you be when you grow up?’

[We apply this to all family members on the theory that some day we adults may have different jobs!]

Oh how it changes.

Oh how it doesn’t resemble anything that the typical kids come up with.

All the usual fire fighter, super hero, artist options never see the light of day. Instead we have an eclectic collection of options, phases that they grow through. Do not allow your older children to destroy it as evidence they now find embarrassingly babyish.

Now I suspect that some people are a little skeptical. Maybe a child is not able to speak or is currently learning to use PECs. Sometimes we parents are apt to be a bit pessimistic about the future. Some of us aim at independence but are shaky on the details of how to achieve that goal. It can be difficult to focus on the future when so many of us are buried the daily minutiae. All I can say, is that we have done this for several years now. Initially it was merely a initial exercise in extracting speech and engaging joint attention, one of the tiny steps in the equivalent of Floortime. It had the advantage of being a neutral subject that did not trigger meltdowns, namely, boring. It served so many different functions such as taking turns, listening skills and oddly enough, being in the here and now, together.

As is so often the case, all this time later, they now volunteer information. They tell me things because they want me to know these things. For some, this point is of no consequence, bewildering, why even mention it, but for others, the true significance of such a development is almost to tantalizing to think about. If you had told me 7 years ago that this would be so, I would probably have told you to go and boil your head, because I was even grumpier then than I am now. Now, it’s your turn to tell me to go and boil my head and I’ll see you back here in seven years to compare notes.

Disclaimer:- Dear google searcher ……….. asking this question will not make autism go away.

Tide marks of handprints? Another new first!

Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.lighteningonline.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/smiley-saturday-1.jpg" /></a>

Not so long back my children were earth bound with feet of clay, never to venture from my side they clung like limpets. Less than 18[?] months ago, they wouldn't even venture upstairs during daylight hours. The whole second story was a place of trepidation.





And I'm passing the cleaning duties to the twit that let them watch Spiderman.

A first time for Everything

If you live for years with bolters and escape artists, along with a slew of dead bolts, padlocks and safety chains, it can be difficult to break the panic habit.

I hear the click of the front door and make a dash for it. I miss him by a second and scramble out into the garden, dressing gown aflap. He shuts the garden gate on me as I arrive and takes two steps out into the road as I yell and slip through the white picket. He turns to blink at me as my hands travel around his shoulders suddenly very close to his throat, “wot?” I search for my calm tone as the fabric gapes at my neckline, exposed.
“I need you to come back inside ……where you’ll be safe.”
“I am safe. I’m waitin for the bus.”
“Oh…….well wait with me…….inside.”
“It’s o.k. mom.” I can almost see his halo of innocence, his sincerity, “I wasn’t gonna run away or anything…….why would I?”

I recall a thousand different reasons and even more occasions, the millions of metres that I have chased my children all over San Jose but for now I’ll just focus on this one.

Out of the act

With Nonna’s birthday approaching I decide that teamwork is the only way. My daughter and her partner agree to mind the smalls whilst I barricade myself in her bedroom to complete Nonna’s new housecoat. Secrets are a difficult concept to grasp at the best of times but I try anyway.


“So listen guys!”
“Wot?”
“My job is to sew. Your job is to keep Nonna out of the bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Because I want it to be a secret. I don’t want her to see what I’m sewing.”
“Why?”
“So it will be a surprise.”
“Surprise is badly.”
“Some people like surprises. Nonna likes surprises. Do you think you could help keep her out……..distract her……something like that?”

I note the blank stares as their sister lures them out into the garden with the far more interesting option of lizard hunting.

After nearly an hour of battling with my ancient sewing machine I am all ready to emerge, triumphant with task completion.


Other people have also achieved task completion or something like that I suppose.







I do not like surprises. Message received, fully understood and executed.