Handy hint – the power of touch [the nudge]

Inferences are a stumbling block for many children and some autistic ones. These difficulties crop up in both language acquisition and in practical day to day life. For instance, on a cold day I might hold and open a jacket for one of my children. The visual cue of the jacket as well as the ambient cool temperature, just before school, may prompt many children into the ‘correct’ response of putting on additional clothing. However, that is not the case around here. Many parents use additional scaffolding to help their children navigate many of these hic-cups, such as verbal cues and or PEC’s.

All too frequently, in my limited experience, parents such as myself, miss an obvious step, skip ahead of ourselves or fail to note the obvious. Now although my long term memory isn’t as good as many, there is one thing about my youthful days that I can still recall. It was a morning ritual. My mother would crouch down to help me put on my shoes. She would say something like “well put your foot in it then!” I would look down at the top of her head. I could not see my feet. I could not see my shoes. My toes would wiggle about in search for the invisible shoe. My mother found it very frustrating. I think I also found it frustrating but probably more confusing than anything else. Because of this experience I make sure that when I help my own children with their shoes, that they have a clear view of both their feet and their shoes, although they generally sit on the ground. Standing on one leg is generally an advanced skill for many children.

One of the main differences between my experience and my children’s is that I was highly motivated to please my mother, to be a good girl, whereas this, until fairly recently, has not been a motivating force for the boys. Dressing, is not a high priority for them, they are indifferent. In addition, shoes are positively hateful, aversive. The combined effect is indeed a challenge.

If you need any hints on how to make shoes more fun, then I have a list as long as your arm, however these days, they are much more co-operative, so I am able to skip the step of hanging their shoes on my ears. Nonetheless, the visual and other prompts often fall flat. There is still a glitch in the executive function. It may be helpful to think of this as inertia:- everything is set up in place, ready and willing, but they need another little nudge to get the ball rolling in the right direction and overcome ‘stand still.’

So there I am on the floor, in front of my sitting child with the right shoe in front the correct foot. I say the right words in an aurally attention grabbing manner and yet no movement is forthcoming. It is easy to lose it completely at this moment, having already prompted, cued and encouraged every teeny tiny step of a morning routine for over an hour, times two. However, for my boys at least, I find that a gentle tap on the back of the calf, nudges the leg into that first movement. That’s all it takes. It’s like kicking away the brakes and away we go.

I don’t know where your child is on the spectrum. However, it may be that you can avoid the many "mistakes" that I made. One of my "mistakes" was my efficiency. I deemed my children incapable of anything. Teaching basic skills was way too time consuming and my attempts caused no end of tantrums. Therefore it was quicker for me to do everything for them, and I mean everything. As a result they remained helpless for far longer than they should have done. If you find yourself similarly situated, then maybe some small but significant and manageable lesson could begin. It is challenging to know exactly where to start with children who are unable to dress, toilet or eat by themselves.

It may be easiest to begin with something that they can already do. This may take a change in "perspective." For example, the one thing that my children did quite marvelously was to remove all their clothing, frequently. I viewed this habit as a highly frustrating negative, especially since they were completely unable to dress themselves. I found it infinitely ironic. It took a long time to redress, each of them, many, many, many times a day. In fact to be quite honest, usually towards the end of the day I would simply give up, exhausted, hopeless, helpless and "useless."

Then I learned about tactile defensiveness, just a little bit, just enough to give me a clue, a very tiny clue.

It was one small part to tackle. If they were without clothes then their bodies were available for contact and sensory diets came into our lives. Shortly after that the reality of ‘generalization of skills’ also made it’s impact. They learned, gradually, to enjoy sand play and other more obscure pastimes. One obscure pastime was a huge box filled with garbanzo beans, to waist height. Body painting, shaving cream, chocolate spreading and no end of different textures to explore, as we tried to desensitize them. There was ample opportunity, due to a lack of clothing. It took a long time and even sand play became fun, but it was only fun at home. It was not fun at day care, nor the beach, nor the park, because generalization also has to be taught.

I made many, many mistakes as I learned, because one child was a sensory seeker and the other was hell bent on avoidance. I learned brushing skills, but I am still very bad at it.

As usual I digress.

As I write, I am mindful of the fact that this will never reach those whom I would most wish to reach. Those people do not blog. They have no time to blog as they are far too busy doing what needs to be done, alone, just like I used to be. If they’re lucky they may have a few friends, but those friendships have dwindled in number and thinned in frequency. But in conclusion I would like to say that no matter how difficult some days can be, better and brighter days become more frequent, hopefully for all of us.

Homework Strategies

The issue of homework comes to a head, as I knew it would. It is tangential to the subject at hand, as I sit in the psychiatrist’s office. We brainstorm the matter. This is both a comforting and disappointing exercise. It is comforting because it reassures me that the psychiatrist is down to earth. He is no fool. He demonstrates a masterful command of the all the hic-cups. He lists each strategy in turn, adjusted for the dynamics of three small children where two are autistic. At the same time, it is a disappointment because I have tried each an every one of them to no avail. The only one I have not technically tried, is the idea to bribe someone to come into my home and help one child with their homework. I have not tried this technique for the pure and simple reason that I cannot find a victim to bribe. He concludes, as I have done, that matters will improve given time.


At the same time, my daughter’s teacher offers the carrot of the ‘after school homework club’ for her. It’s on campus in the library which in America is called a media centre, because it houses materials other than books. This is a tremendous bonus. This means that I will only have two autistic children to coach through their homework. Only two wiggly squiggly squirming screamers. What a boon! There is of course, a down side.

The downside is that we will need to return to school one hour later to collect her. Returning to school means persuading the boys to get back into the hated car. It could take as much as an hour to achieve such persuasion at that time of the day, a thoroughly bad time of the day. I will not spend an hour with two wiggly squiggly squirming homework screamers. Instead I will spend an hour with two wiggly squiggly squirming screamers who will not get into the car AND no homework will be completed.

But there is an upside, a saving grace. When I eventually manage to return to the school, instead of having to remove the boys from the car and take them to the Media centre to collect her, I merely have to park the car at the allotted spot until they spot my arrival and send her out to me. Can you imagine how truly delightful it is to skip four entire transitions? Yes four! One to extract them from the car, one to get them into the media centre, then one out of the media centre and then one back into the car! Be still my beating heart!

…………

The car doors close on my snotty screamers. They have no shoes on, but they won’t need them to collect their sister. They do wear some clothes, just enough so that should anyone be unwise enough to sneak a peek, they will only be rewarded with the odd shoulder here and there and probably far too much thigh. They each clutch Pokemons in their clammy little hands, as the rule of ‘no toys in the car’ has been temporarily suspended. Toys in the car are basically missiles and projectiles to torment the chauffeur.

I turn on the CD and pray quietly. I remember just in the nick of time to go via the public library so that I can use the ‘hole in the wall,’ book drop facility, before I need to take out a mortgage to pay off the fines. I’ll pick up the ones I’ve reserved on line another day, a day when I am without children, dash inside the entrance to the shelf by the door, grab the pile for auto check out and skedaddle back to the car.

I hear my tummy grumble but I ignore it. I can feel that one side of my stomach lining is sticking to the other side. I notice the little orange light on the dashboard, which tells me that I have one and a half thimblefuls of petrol in the tank. I grab an emergency bottle of Ensure and glug it down. If we grind to a halt at least I will have enough energy to walk somewhere, possibly. I have some vague recall of drinking from ‘open containers’ whilst driving, or is that empty vessels? Now I shall be had up by the police for drinking and driving. I will sue Ensure and their cohorts because I really am an American. Why can’t they put more calories in their dinky little bottles?



I pull into the curbside at school, hop out of the car and assume the position and demeanour of a respectable mother. I lean back against the car as it rocks. Why aren’t cars sound proofed? I adopt a casual air just in case anyone is watching. I find it hard to maintain a casual air as my back bounces off the car at frequent intervals. How can I look innocent prior to the arrival of the Highway Patrol as they come to cart me away? Please will some come and lock me up? I see her head pop out of the media centre door followed quite quickly by the rest of her. She staggers towards me under the weight of two backpacks, the one she forgot on Friday and the substitute she took today. I hug her whilst we are still outside the car to protect her for the maelstrom inside the car. “How did you get on dear? What did you think of homework club? Did you manage to finish all your homework?”
“Er no.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What none of it?”
“Um …..no I didn’t do any of it.” Unfortunately I think aloud, “how can you be in a library for a whole hour and not get any of your homework done? What on earth were you doing in there?”
“Reading.”
It is testament to my ever weaker hold on reality that I have forgotten that some people go inside libraries and once there, they read.

A random number of ever moving aliens

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Clash of the Titans

Sometimes, especially when they were younger, people would mistake my boys for twins. One with long legs, one with a shorter body meant that when they were sitting they seemed the same size. Like most twins or siblings, any similarities between them are of little significance. It is their differences in personality, character and disposition that singles each one of them out. If you then cover that child with a layer of autism, a patchwork quilt, [translation = homemade and of a unique variety] the result is too complex for the average nitwit, [translation = parent] to fathom.

Unfortunately for them, I am the designated nitwit of the household.

All human beings have little triggers, things that set us off, irritations and foibles. Sometimes we can identify the cause, something from the past that makes us react in a certain manner. Other times and other things we just accept, it’s part of our own singular make up. We find methods of coping with these triggers such as avoidance. If you find sirens annoying, then you don’t rent an apartment above the Fire Station. [translation = house] Although maybe, that is the very location to help you acclimatize and de-sensitize yourself.

My boys have lots of triggers. Each one has his own set, that differs from the other. They also collect more triggers as they get older. Old triggers seem to fade but are always lurking in the wings ready to pounce. Junior has a ‘thing’ about "death," dying and all other related aspects of ‘terminal,’ a word that he can read, write and spell accurately. [translation = an offshoot of hyperlexia]

His brother also has a ‘thing’ about "death" but different triggers. For reasons too humbling to go into, his current understanding, is that death occurs after the age of 90. Although his auditory processing is good, when it comes to numbers he is often confused, mistaking 19 for 90. Any word that sounds like either of those words can also be a trigger. Initially you might not think that there are too many words that sound remotely like either. If you break down those words into their phonetic sounds and jumble them up a bit, you may be surprised at how often their variants turn up in ordinary everyday conversations. [nye tea high teen nigh T]

Both have supersonic hearing, which means that they can tune out the sound of the motors that power the freezers in the supermarket and tune into the conversation between strangers on the other side of the store. [translation = or vice versa, or from one to the other, all without warning] Because they both have poor social skills, as well as a higher social concience than most, this means that he will hone in on the distance conversation that contains ’19 or 90,’ seek that person out and ask “you are going to die?” If the child that asks you that question has an expression of genuine concern, this may cause unknown and undue distress to the unwitting victim.

Where does this leave us? Well it can mean that sometimes something very small can cause a fireworks display. We need to appreciate that what might be an irritating trigger when we are adults, may have a much more explosive effect on someone smaller. [translation = with more nerve endings and less self control]

My son dashes out into the garden to rescue a cat. Both he and the cat are naked because my son was just about to start dressing. [translation = had completed undressing] He’s not quick enough to nab the cat who skitters back indoors. The sudden U-turn by the cat, sends my ungainly son off balance and into a heap. He hobbles back indoors distressed by his poor cat catching skills. He is unperturbed by the flap of skin on the top of his toe and the river of blood that follows him. I park him on the nearest available chair to commiserate with him about the foolishness of the feline population. I hope to distract him from the river of blood but he seems oblivious. We discuss herding cats, a subject near to my heart, whilst my hands investigate damage. His sister appears downstairs, sleepy eyed and tousled. “The school bus for the field trip is leaving at 9:10 sharp!” she advises and yawns. The ‘9:10’ of her message, penetrates my son’s psyche and sparks a negative reaction because he thinks she has said ‘ninety,’ “ninety? I am dying?” he screams, still obvious to his wound. The growing pile of blood stained rags and towels make her gasp. “Oh no! Are you o.k? Can I see? No!” It is her reaction that make both boys react. The real victim notices that he is leaking, “I am blood?” he enquires curiously, but bedeviled by thoughts of death. He looks in the general direction of his leg but fails to notice that he has a foot on the end of it.

At the same time I hear a "piercing 50 decibel" echo somewhere far, far away, [translation = the upstairs bathroom] followed by rapid fire footsteps. Junior appears within seconds to witness the scene, “he is blood, he is ugly, he is dead, hospital, emergency room, only 4 toes, 911…..” he talks at 90 mph, a never ending stream of words. His vast vocabulary is strung together. They all spell out the same general message of doom. When he reaches the end of his current word bank he squalks, a sound half way between a rooster and a drowning man.


Spouse appears, drowsy after three and a half hours sleep. My daughter is scared of the blood herself but recognizes that her little brother is spiraling. She soothes him with reassurance but he is impervious. When he starts to rip his hair and beat his body with his arms, spouse steps in and whisks him away from the scene.

At first glance this picture may seem a little grim, but that is only one perspective. A different view is a far more optimistic one. A few years ago we would have endured meltdowns and guessed at their cause; blood and fear, but clearly this is a much more complex matter. We are better able to understand the complexity because they are better able to express themselves verbally. As we get a better handle on the causes, we are better equipped to help them find other strategies to cope, help them practice them and help them learn.


The minutes tick by to bring us closer to 7 in the morning, an arbitrary time designated as appropriate to start the day. Another, very ordinary day.

It is at such moments that I am so grateful, that the two and a half years of the ‘plaster campaign,’ [translation = Band-aid] will finally pay dividends.