Assertiveness training

My oldest son talks less frequently than some other children, but he does "talk."


When he was younger than he is now, people often saw fit to remark upon his early attempts at communication in a less than complimentary manner. Stutters and stammerers are used to such treatment. The struggles of speech production are rarely appreciated, merely mocked. Initially I was ill equipped to either retaliate or educate. I took solace in the lonely thought that "I knew otherwise." I knew that his instincts were "keen."






Empowerment is an annoying but popular word. As a natural born wimp from birth, at some moment on the journey I decided to adopt this approach for my own children, not the wimpy but the empowering. I would learn to speak up, not be mealy mouthed, challenge and stand tall, but I’m still practicing.



***



I launch into a monologue of the glories of one of our cats. His attractive appearance, skittishness and howling yeowl. I wax lyrical of his charms, more dog like than cat, more intelligent and delightful than the average feline.








My son takes a step towards me to look me straight in the midriff.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“It’s not nice to have favourites.”

Some people learn better than others.

Theory of Mind Challenge Game

Now you know "me," I wouldn’t be one to start a "trend" or anything so outrageous, but as I climb a new developmental curve, I think it’s only fair to "share."

This is “On the Psychologist’s Couch” time, or maybe the "psychologist's chair."

"Step into the shoes" of someone of significance in your life.
Try and imagine how they see your relationship with them, child or adult, their perspective.

Be as honest as you can.

I’ve chosen my "Mother in Law" because I sort of try to ‘do’ the children all the time.

No rush.

No pressure.

Lots of time!

If you’re up to the challenge, give me a tinkle on completion…........
er……...…?…......link or e-mail.



This will only work if you can imagine a very strong "Italian" accent. How we love the "Italians."

Whilst I have never asked her directly. [perish the thought!] But if you asked her what she thinks of me, she might say something like this:-

“I think she is basically a good woman and he could have done a lot worse if truth be told. I like her, you know, but I just think she spends far too much time cleaning everything. I’ve never seen anyone do so much cleaning, especially when everything is already clean. Why does she do that?

I know she’s trying to teach them good table manners but I just don’t see the point of a butter knife, it just makes more washing up. What's a few crumbs between family? Why does she do that I wonder?

I try to keep out of her way as she is always rushing around doing heaven knows what. I get my own snacks so as not to be a bother.

When she’s not cleaning she’s cooking. Cooking, cooking, cooking, I can’t think why, there’s only 6 or 7 of us? I always say ‘never trust a skinny cook!’ Then, if I take a little slice of bread, because you know I am a diabetic so I have to be careful, and she then runs after me with a plate in one hand, a dust pan and brush in the other hand, a cloth and a spray cleaner in the other hand because of course you know she thinks she has six hands or something.

I would say one thing though. She is very good at laundry. I make sure I take all my white clothes to America when I visit.

You know what they say, ‘a son’s a son til he gets a wife, but a daughter’s a daughter the rest of your life.’ I never had a daughter of my own so I don’t know if that’s true. I like her bog. She sends me it every day. It keeps me in touch when I am in England. Generally I don’t get on with women very much, but I think if you can tease someone, then maybe you can’t ask for much more than that.

It is a very noisy happy household, so I don't bother with my hearing aides. I can tell when she's yelling because her freckles seem luminous on that puce complexion.

I just wish she would slow down, you know, because at my age I know that life can be so very, very……..well, you know….........short.”

We love you Nonna, and thanks for doing the ironing, one chore I never do, coz you know I’m allergic to that!

We are not one

We split up. Divide and…….....hobble through. I take the child who has no words to the supermarket, for a mega shop before our guests arrive. To be fair, out guests are also very good friends. We could feed them Goldfish Crackers and water with no ill effects.

On arrival, after a unimaginably smooth transition, I read an item from the list aloud and he hurtles off with his telescope pinned to his eye ball, a game.

In less than 20 minutes we have a groaning trolly, overflowing at the check out. The bagger, a familiar face, is unusually cheerful. We exchange pleasantries. I notice him read the pull-up details and glance at my son, askew. He pops the paper prescription sack into a grocery bag, but not before checking for shop lifter additions and maybe the name?

For the first time ever, I notice that the bagger has a physical disability. I cannot decide if this is because I am abnormally distracted, abnormally undistracted on this particular occasion or completely unobservant. I mention my observation to him. I smile at him encouragingly, because we are all members of the same club, because I am an idiot. He winces because I am crass, inappropriate and extremely rude. With my ignorance caught on display, I cannot work out whether to apologise or simply shut up? I conclude that I am the one who is really not safe to be let out in public.

My son observes the checker with his telescope, in silence. I decide to move on although I’m not sure if it’s to hide my own embarrassment or his? “Are you going over to the Farmer’s Market tonight or is that considered treason?” I ask the bagger. He purses his lips in response. I feel waves of self pitying shame wash over me.

My son parks himself between my legs on the floor, horizontal, still in silent observation mode. Fortunately I wear trousers. As I struggle with payment I search for a life line. My son observes his own reflection in the mirror, which is strategically placed at floor level at an angle, thigh high, although I fail to comprehend the underlying strategy?
“Can I help you out with your bags today?” he asks in a tone that means the opposite.
“No thank you, my son will help.” We both look at my son who beams a toothy grin, which serves to say the day, for me at least.

Eye on the prize but close to the edge

I try to persuade my son to talk, but he has gone on strike. I leave the boys a mo whilst I think carefully why this should have suddenly happened, out of the blue. Although there are no words, the noise is filled with Pokemon noises. Nonna steps into the room, “they’re being very good, aren’t they?”
“It’s great to see them playing together.”
“Such dear little mice.”

I look at them pretending to be Charmeleon and Pikachu at battle stations, although not at war. The resulting din is an aural challenge, but only for me.

“Are you going to go and collect all those umbrellas in the garden?”
I can hardly make out her words nor make myself understood without going hoarse.
“Um…….yes…..maybe later.”
When the phone rings for the umpteenth time in one hour I let it go to the answering machine, so as not to break with tradition.
“You’re not going to do it now?”
“Um…..no…..I’m going to wait until they’re properly dry.”
“Did you know that one of those umbrellas is broken?”
“Is it? Oh dear.”
“What about this?” she flaps a piece of stale bread in front of me.
“Oh I’ll pop it in the bin.”
“What about the birds?”
“The birds?”
“Yes. Why don’t you put it out in the garden for the birds?”
“Um….well we do have several bird feeders but they’re all off the ground because of the cats.”
“Put it over then.”
“Over what?”
“Over the fence into the empty lot.” I look into the garden, maybe 25 yards to the fence and then back again. I watch her slice into the new fresh loaf on the counter with a paring knife. I check the children and the Pokemon and the siege. About 20 seconds if I really leg it. “O.k. back in a mo.”

In a mo I am back.

She brushes crumbs from the counter onto the bread board, sort of and then waves the board at me, “what about these then?” as crumbs scatter. She nods towards the fence thrusting the board towards me as a prompt. I check the family room for indications of escalation. “O.k. back in a mo.”

In a mo I am back.

I check the family room where other Pokemons have been roped in with string and scissors, which is possibly good.
“What about this then?”
“Um……”
“This peach stone.”
“Compost bin?”
“No……are you going to plant it?”
“Plant it? I suppose I could.”
“Are you going to do it now?”
“Now……er maybe later.”
“What shall I do with the stone then?”
“Er……just leave it on the counter, it’ll be fine.”
“Did you know that you left a spade outside?”
“Yes I haven’t quite finished planting yet.”
“Shall I put it away for you?”
“That’s kind but I was hoping I might get a chance to get out there later.”
“Am I wearing my hearing aids?”
“No I don’t think so.”
“What is the matter with you?”
“Pardon?”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I am.”
“No you are not paying attention I think………what is the matter?”
“I’m just a bit worried.”
“Worried? Why are you worried?”
“He’s stopped talking.”
“Stopped talking?”
“Yes.”
“Bah! Don’t worry, he’ll talk soon enough. Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.”

I ignore the phone and door bell simultaneously, it’s really very easy.

Three for the price of one

If you still need words, try over at "alien."

Coz I'm pooped.

Follow my lead or maybe hers?

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t annoy me, but other people’s habits are just as ingrained as my own.

I don’t know how you get along with your mother in law but there are some fairly standard stereotypes associated with this relationship. Personally, I am greatly in favour of RDI. Not the RDI of autism but rather the RDI of Relative:Divorce Index, for those of us in the know. It’s just another one of those challenges that we have to tackle.


Part of my weekly routine is to dead head the roses on a Sunday morning, before it’s too hot and before we go ‘out.’ What with “one" thing and "another," my routine is off and petals brown on the bushes. It happens annually around this time of year, when the house is "full" and we slip into "holiday time."

During holiday time, it is Nonna’s routine to wander the garden in the early morning dew, during the breakfast mayhem indoors. As she walks, she snaps off the dead heads with her bare hands and drops them on the ground.

Inside we tackle each tortuous stage of our morning routine but out of the corner of my eye, I see those thorny dead heads amass, all ready to snare the unwary. The garden and "outside" generally, is already, and always has been, a challenge for the boys. The de-sensitization campaign is “ongoing." Currently his list of deadly weapons includes not only all things that could be termed ‘sharp’ but also a very wide range of rough textures. I know that later I shall have to test my own visual acuity to hunt down each and every one of those prickly spars, if I ever hope to have dinner outside.

I have no time to hunt as every minute of the day is already accounted for.

Rats!

Once breakfast is over, I combine clear up with supper preparation. I know that consumption of stuffed tomatoes is overly optimistic, but the food campaign is relentless. I leave them on the counter to come up to room temperature, ready to top, de-seed and assemble. Whatever happened to 'life is too short to peel a grape' or is it 'stuff an olive'?

In the heat of the season this doesn’t take long and all cooking must be completed prior to my own "meltdown."

The loose summer routine of summer days ticks forward. In between whiles I zip into the garden to scatter slug pellets with one hand and gather thorny twigs with the other. The plan is to zip for a few minutes in every one hour. 10 hours, ten handfuls and lots of "hand washing" until dinner.

We spend a considerable amount of time in the pool to decompress, cool off, therapize and fun. Lucky, lucky us.

As usual, I find that all of them are infinitely more coherent thereafter, calm, happy and on full beam.

“Hey Mom!”
“Yes dear,” I reply, not looking as I rub down his big brother with a huge sun crisped towel.
“Hey Mom!” he persists good naturedly. I look up. He stands next to the arbor in an ‘I’m a little tea pot’ pose. At the end of his spout is a perfect pincer grip, poised mid air. Across his face is a perfect cherubic grin. He reaches in towards the branch as I watch captivated, takes careful hold and snaps off a huge, woody thorn. I cannot read my own facial expression but it’s enough to send him scampering towards me with one outstretched rigid arm. He brakes in front of me as I’m kneeling. He lifts it to my nose for closer examination. I see his eye balls cross in concentration with his hot breath wafting over my face, a thorn between two buds. “You my son are the very bravest one!” I beam and break the spell.

He skips off with his prize as I hobble inside with his brother and his jelly legs wrapped up burrito style. I park him on the hardwood floor, vertical, feet end down as he wobbles to gain his balance. I lean on the kitchen counter and wait. His gyro kicks in and the towel is kicked off as he escapes. As I look down I notice a tomatoe is missing. I look across to the table, to Nonna enjoying a diabetic snack, “they’re very good these, did you know?”

I pout.

I think.

Maybe, if I am very lucky I will be granted the chance to visit my own married son, in the future. Perhaps in a foreign land. I might have brief glimpses of him during his very busy life. I will remain at home all day, every day with my daughter in law for two months solid.

I hope she's not a pouty little Madam? That would be so annoying.

Double Trouble

Whilst on holiday in England I pursue an exacting beauty routine. At my age I can’t be too careful. At all costs I must preserve what withers. These days there is no end of potions and lotions available to the half witted, such as myself. Thus when I dive in the shower with my Brillo pad once in every 24 hour period, I emerge ready to face the world.



I decide, seeing as how it is my Wedding Anniversary, that maybe I should make a little bit more of an effort. I rummage through my luggage for the newly purchased mascara. I left the five year old, dried up predecessor in the bin, in San Jose.

I discover that make-up has advanced since I last had occasion to use any. I recall noting some very fancy spectacles that opened out like doors to aid the visually challenged, but I don’t have any to hand. I struggle with wands without magic. I am certain that my nose is a more mountainous obstacle than it used to be or maybe my manipulation skills are less agile.

That said, I yank on a clean T-shirt, good to go.

I bounce out of the bed room to present myself to my husband….......…for his approval….......……which I prompt, “I’m all ready……......in my smart T-shirt….....….which is clean!” He glances in my direction with a child hanging off his elbow, a large child who appears to be suffering an attack of jelly legs.

"Oh yes…...very…...….er.....white!” I give up and bend down to tie someone’s shoe laces, as the shoe lace tying campaign has floundered.

My son examines me, an aerial view, “ooo I am like!”
“Thank you dear.” At least someone appreciates my efforts.
“I am have?”
“Have what dear? A clean T-shirt?”
“No.”
“Er……..what do you want?”
“I am want……er……have……..spiders on my eyes too.”

15 years in a nutshell [ish]

"Mary Lue" over at "Life the Universe and Everything" has tagged me for this meme. That's what I call a dare!

Think back on the last 15 years of your life. What would you tell someone that you hadn’t seen or talked to for 15 years? How would you sum up your life? You get 10 bullet points. A list of 10 things to summarize about you. At the end of your list, tag 5 more people and send on the love…

Since I am also taking "Karen's" advice about being brave, this will be my first and only ever video of me. I did warn you that I can only count up to seven.

Wish I'd worn a suit!

Wish I had a suit!

Sorry about the 'hat hair' I had to wear my birthday crown.

Sorry about the jewels, I had to wear them all to avoid favouritism.

Wish I knew how to edit video tapes. Eeek!

Hope I don't crack your screen.

Don't forget to wipe the spit off!

I won't be a big ol meany and tag anyone specifically but if you take up the challenge leave me a little linky poo.

Cheers dears

p.s. they weren't alone in the house, their Dad and Nonna were holding the fort so I could have a minute of alone time with you. Hey! It's my birthday! Wear a "dress!" From my barnyard to yours.

N.B. 'Bedlam' means chaotically noisy NOTHING else. Ooo I wish I could edit.


Ooo that's a good idea, I should have put a real arrow on my face!

Comment of the week

<a href="http://whittereronautism.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/Recipes-1-1.jpg" /></a>

[Inspired by "Scribbit."]

Goes to............

This week I should like to nominate "Michell Pendergrass" who blogs over "here" at her blog called "Just a Minute" for comment on "Whoops a Daisy" which read as follows:-

'This is one of the best "tackling" stories I've read!! :)

And 75pts to you for making me laugh so hard on my blog wondering why I had a telly in the fireplace. I had to look at my own pictures to figure out what you were talking about!!'

So if you haven't already checked out her blog and you would like to check your own intelligence and visual acuity, then you can pop over and see for yourself at her post here, called "Tackle it Tuesday," then pop back again and let me know if you also have a telly in your fireplace? Honestly some people!

Whilst I'm here, I'd like to add this message from "Susan" in case anyone is interested in participating.


This is the original email:

I am writing to people who do disability blogs to see if they would like to participate as a blogger in an ADAPT action. In September we are off to DC to do some really amazing work. I would tell you more, but I am sworn to secrecy!

To get the word out - we are having a blogswarm. You will get press releases the same time the media does. You will have access to digital photos. Be on the inside of the action even if you can't be there.

In return for being a part of the blogswarm you will get a link to your blog on the special website created specifically for this action. This is an opportunity to make this a truly national action with bloggers across the continent spreading the word. We have the world at our fingertips!

If you are interested in being one of our bloggers - just send me an email to say you are in (and remind me of the URL of your blog) and I will add you to the bloggers list. If I don't hear from you, I will assume you are not interested. If I do hear from you I will send you a confirming email.

If you know anyone who blogs who you think might want to be on the inside on the ADAPT blogswarm - please feel free to forward this on. In unity and numbers we have unstoppable strength.

Susan


Susan Fitzmaurice


Cheers Dears

A Staycation in our own Wildlife preserved

I telephone my mum as I have been neglectful of late.

“Oh I’m so glad you called dear. We were beginning to wonder if you were still alive!”
“Yes, sorry about that, but it’s a bit hectic around here.”
“Hectic? But you’re all on holiday still aren’t you?”
“That’s exactly why it’s so hectic.”
“You really should relax more dear, you’ll wear yourself out and then where will they all be?”
“Easier said than done.”
“How did the cardi turn out?”
“What cardi?”
“The one you were knitting when you were on holiday in England?”
“Oh, that one. I’ve not finished it yet.”
“Really? But you only had to sew the pieces together surely?”
“Indeed.”
“So?”
“Just not had a moment and any way a sewing needle is considered a lethal weapon.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing, it’s just that small children and needles lying around the place……not good.”
“Oh I wish you wouldn’t use those cryptic American terms.”
“Cryptic. Hardly.”
“Why can’t you speak in complete sentences?”
“No chance. Anyway, where were we?”

The boys coo terms of endearment in the background:- ‘adorable, gorgeous, so cute.’

“Did you buy a puppy afterall then?”
“Adopt.”
“Adopt? Adopt what?”
“A puppy. Out here we don’t buy puppies we adopt them.”
“Oh. So did you?”
“Did we what?”
“Buy …..er……adopt a puppy?”
“Nope.”
“But I can hear the children…...”
“Oh, right. No, no puppy, it’s a rolly polly.”
“Oh. A real one?”
“Well it’s alive at the moment but I wouldn’t vouch for it’s chances in the longevity department.”
“Why is he shouting endless?”
“It’s his name.”
“Whose name?”
“The rolly polly’s.”
“Oh! He’s named the rolly polly?”
“Pets for free mother!”
“Well boys will be boys.”
“Hmm.” My daughter approaches to shout at me, “Mom it’s not fair his Endless escaped and now he wants to nick my Big Anthony.”
“I’ll be with you in a moment dear, I’m on the phone to Granny” I snap. I return my attention to my mother.
“Who is Anthony?”
“An ant.”
“I should have known. Is he really big?”
“He’s bigger than Little Anthony. Anyway, I’ll have to dash before too much unsupervised wildlife enters the house. Love you!”
“Speak to you again soon dear.” I replace the receiver and hunt down my children and their new pets.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“Are they?”
“Are who?”
“Er……are they "worms?”
“Are who worms?”
“Are worms be turn to "cocoons?”
“No dear. Butterflies and moths have cocoons.” I think about worms casts, not quite the same thing at all. I don’t wish to muddy the waters still further.

Much, much later, at the end of another sun filled day, I tuck them all into bed in the moonlight.

I stand on the hard wood floor wondering what to "tackle" first as their Dad walks in after another long day of toil. I decide to do nothing and plop onto the sofa next to him and a rolled up unfinished cardi.

We chat, or rather I chat and he stares at the blank television screen. I pick up the knitting and a well embedded needle, as his mother, Nonna, steps into the family room, “oh that’s nice. I’m glad to see you enjoying yourselves together. So……why is it then?”
“Why is what…..er……I mean……pardon?”
“Your thing?”
“Which thing, the knitting?”
“No, the thing in the kitchen?”
“Which thing in the kitchen?”
“The thing next to the cooker, the little computer, your computer?”
“What about it?”
“You’re not doing it today?”
“Um…..not doing what on the computer?”
“Your……what’s it called….. your EEE mail.”
“Oh no reason, just been a bit busy I suppose.”
“Why you are have so many?”
“So many what?”
“EEE mails?"
"Ummmmm?"
"Could I just have a cup of coffee please?”
I leave the beloved and yearned for sofa. Oh to be a couch chip! I move towards the kitchen, but I put my lethal weapon down first. As I wait for the coffee to brew I notice the computer screen, full to busting with new e-mails. I step over to check. As I peer so does Nonna, “ooo who are all these people?”
“Um……international businesses that appear to have my date of birth on file.”
“Oh look! I didn’t know it was your birthday! Appy birthday Maddy. How old you are now then?”

She hugs me in the kitchen.

If I can't remember my own birthday how on earth will I ever remember 48?

Just kiddin!

I take back every rotten word I've ever said about Facebook.

[Although I still disappear off into middle earth every time I arrive!]

I remembered just in the nick of time, thanks to "Yolanda!"

Who needs a brain when you can pinch someone else's.

Thank you "facebook."

p.s. note to techy persons - I would dearly love to fix my "sidebar" but I lack the expertise. I was sorely tempted to steal "Kathleen's" autism bloggers sidebar, but cut and paste was a little sticky. If anyone could provide step by step instructions........piccies would be nice, what a gif that would be.




For instance this "list."
but much, much bigger that his! Size doesn't matter "Gavin" as long as I a remain a little "wiener."

Addendum - if someone doesn't help me with my sidebar I shall just have to have a tantrum, which I will not longer refer to as a "meltdown" but hence forward refer to as an "MB," a "mixed blessing." The advantage is that we have the chance to "understand," the disadvantage is that sometimes we "don't," understand that is to say. So we'll just have emmby's round here. Until "someone" nips along to straighten me out.

Gotta luv the Oxford English dontcha!

Brilliante Premo Weblog Awards and Public Service Announcement

"Karen" over at "Art in the Garage" has given me this award. Horray!

Here are a few blogs that I read regularly.

Dear Ms. Mad,
Please define your terms. What do you mean by ‘regularly’?
Yours irreverently,
The Word Police [USA branch affiliated but not necessarily condoning "Alaska"]

Well it’s funny you should ask that actually. I think that in this context it means often or frequently. However, I should point out that since we are currently enjoying the Summer holiday, we’re really down to ‘random scrabbling in any available free nano seconds.’


I usually start off at the "HUB" where I read but don’t necessarily comment, as they have huge brains over there and I see no need to display my stupidity publicly any more than is strictly necessary.

I can’t read anything until I’ve brilloed the bifocals. I can’t comment anywhere until my brain kicks in, my fingertips connect to my brain and my spell checker engages, otherwise I’m in danger of leaving something that looks like a txt msg, very messy.



Then I have two new favourites. I like to hang on around "Special Needs Mums." I also hang up at "Green Mums," especially if I'm feeling a little blue. Why? I have no idea why, unless it’s just because they are easy to find now that my google reader has gone batty, a real strangle hold.

I do try and keep up to date with all the autism family blogs but they deliberately post randomly just to keep me guessing.



Everything else thereafter is a bit of a poop shute. [note casual use of American colloquialism.]

For future reference in case you wonder why foreigners blink or baulk when you say ‘regularly’ out loud and attach that word to any number of sentences for no particular reason that the rest of us can fathom……………

two thirds of the world’s population use the word ‘regularly’ or ‘regularity’ with reference to ‘plumbing’ only, ‘personal plumbing.’



Here are the “rules” of accepting the award. (Please note: you can copy and paste these rules from my blog to yours. )

1) Put the logo on your blog.
2) Add a link to the person who awarded you.
3) Nominate at least 7 other blogs.
4) Add links to those blogs on yours.
5) Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.


And the award(s) go to...
"Jocelyn" at "O Mighty Crisis."
"Furiousball" over at "My Diatribe."
"Franky" at "Frankily Yours."
"Lime" at "House of Lime."
"Mrs.G" at "Derfwad Manor."
"Lou" over at "Louceel."
"David" over at "David McMahon."

"Linda" over at "Are we there Yet?"

Cheers dears

Perfect Post

Today I would like to nominate "Lonestar" for the perfect post award hosted by Lindsay at "Suburban Turmoil" and Kimberley at "Petroville."

Her post on her blog "3 Running in Circles," and "Everyday Adventures" is called "Can you name all the 43 Presidents?"

For me this is a perfect post [and also a video!] because it illustrates the amazing potential of children, any and all of them. I doubt very much, even if I happened to be a very good American, that could also achieve this feat.

Anyone interested in hearing me recite the Kings and Queens of England?

Pop along and test your skills, I won't tell on you if you miss a few, or more.

Cheers dears

Thoughty Thirteen

Thirteen Things about free advice Here are a few words of wisdom that you may or may not wish to share with a child of your choice that I have received over the decades. 1. You my child, shall have a miserable and unfortunate life. 2. You really should try and smile more. 3. What's the rush? Is there a fire? 4. Stop being such a misery guts and go out and do something nice for someone else. 5. If you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all. 6. Never trust a mumbler. 7. People will never remember you, but they will always remember your manners. 8. What is the delay? Do I need to put a bomb under you? 9. Just do you best, that's good enough. 10. But you can't go out without a clean hanky! 11. Blow your nose! Oh, it's a freckle. 12. If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, you'll never get rid of them with a Brillo pad. 13. You're a long time dead. A long, long time ago, I would sit in the OBGYN's office, waiting. On the wall was a framed "poem" which read:- A Child Lives What He Learns If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn. If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to be shy. If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight. If a child lives with shame, he learns to feel guilty. If a child lives with tolerance, he learns to be patient. If a child lives with encouragement, he learns confidence. If a child lives with praise, he learns appreciation. If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice. If a child lives with security, he learns to have faith. If a child lives with approval, he learns to like himself. If a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he learns to find love in the world. ~Original Author Unknown I thought it was a bit mushy at the time, but now I'm not so sure, maybe I like Anon afterall. As for number one, in case you wonder if it's true or who might have said such a thing or is this pay back time, I should explain? Someone did say this to me when I was very little, little enough to have to look up 'unfortunate' in the dictionary. Why do I mention it now? Because we all say and do things in the heat of the moment that we later regret. They're impossible to take back. We worry about the damage we've caused and perseverate about it, often years after the event. What we don't know, is that sometimes our words can spark quite a different reaction that we anticipated. For me at least, those words ensured that the opposite would be true, but I'm just obstinate all round, cussed rather than cursed. Perhaps you have a little funny gem of your own to share? Ooo somebody "loves me!" "Yah/Boo" For more useful advice you could nip along and visit "Miss Nelson" at "Meaningful Outcomes" especially this post here called "Raising a Sensory Smart Child." She certainly makes more sense than I do and she's a far better speller too. Cheers dears

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Welcome Home

She's been sleeping in her sister's old room for ten years. A blue room with white clouds.






During her absence the moths invade her space.


We decorate whilst she's away...





Red paint is safest in the garage.





The boys add their own decorative touches.





To welcome her home.

Whoops a daisy

Just like every other parent on the planet, I also have a 'to do' list longer than I count but that's what 'bullets' are really for.

I make a start. I take a marker and draw through the first line which reads, 'wake up.' I cross off six more lines in a similar fashion. Already I'm am stunningly efficient although still in my dressing gown at dawn.

I whizz through my day in a never ending "circus" of productivity.

The first time it happens I’m caught off guard and grab the kitchen counter for support. I look down at my son who has wrapped himself around my knees for some unaccountable reason. “What are you doing dear?” He grins but scampers away, wordless. If I wasn’t half way through chopping an onion I’d be inclined to investigate further.

The second time it happens I see it coming. “What on earth are you doing?” He cackles and flees. By mid-day, they’re both at it, one presumably copying the other.

I am under siege.

Inbetween whiles, I make pertinent enquiries, the whys and wherefores of this developmental trend, to no avail.

I am deeply suspicious.

Surely it's a conspiracy of some vile nature to foil my efficiency quotient for the day.

I notice, quite by chance, that whilst I sit on the carpet with them, I quell any further attacks. As soon as I stand, I am almost immediately struck down.

My 'to do' list calls to me from the kitchen, neglected if not ignored.

When their father walks through the door both the boys pounce on me at the same time, “well done guys!” he beams, “but she’s supposed to fall down, you’ve got to try harder.”

My mouth drops open as he grins as me, “aren’t they doing well?”

This is not a rhetorical question.

“What do you mean? They’ve been attacking me like this all day!”
“Not attacking,....... tackling! I taught them last night!”






I think this should have a warning attached = don't try this at home!






If you have a spare 8 minutes, nip along to the "Autism Acceptance Project" to watch a 10 minute video, because life is two short to read two minutes of credits. Then you can nip along to "Estee's" blog and tell her that you too can only count to 7, maybe 8 on a good day, or maybe that's just me?

Manners maketh man, Manic Monday

Whilst Michael Savage storms into the spotlight to write off our children, the rest of us bimble along in the twilight shadows, busy and better than any microdot in his imagination.





I begin to type:-

‘In principle, all children should be seen but not heard during dinner so that the other participants are to enjoy their meal. It’s a very simple rule, one that I adhered to vigourously when I was but a wee young thing. It is essential that parents maintain scrupulously high expectations and standards, nay, tis their moral obligation to the rest of civilized society.’ I pause in my piece for ‘Ban Brats Daily’ and gather the family for lunch.

In the 80 degree heat in the shade, we collect Al Fresco, as part of the ongoing 'de-sensitization to outside' campaign. These days, the underlying principle remains the same, behave in a kindly manner and hopefully you won’t offend other people. For me, the unpublicized secret of good manners, is the skill to put other people at their ease.

We model ‘sitting.’ They approximate in return. We eat with knives and forks, their fingers work just as hard. Although there is a great deal of detritus over a three foot scatter radius, no-one purposefully throws food. During the meal we discuss a narrow range of subjects in depth, such as ‘whether Chaotic cards are more desirable than Pokemon cards?’





During a pause my youngest shoots off like Billy the Whizz for no apparent reason, “hey! Where are you going Sunny Jim?” He stops, mid-fly, frozen, “er…..I’m done.”
“No you are not done! There’s something you haven’t done yet.” His whole body sags as he takes heavy steps back to his chair to take up the flop position, the nearest he’s been to actually sitting in the last seven and a half minutes. “Please……..may I leaf dah table?”
“Beautifully said. Yes you may dear.” He scoots off on rewind back into the safety of the house.

My other son staggers off in his brother’s wake, “hey! Where are you going Sunny Jim?” It takes a few more staggers before the message is processed. He turns, “wot?” he splutters, spewing crumbs. “Sit back down, you have a face full of food.” His hands fly to his face, whole hands on whole face, as they flutter for evidence.

“Wot?”
“I mean….......your mouth is still full of food dear!” He stands rigid, stretches his neck, head back and gulps. A little shiver engulfs him before he opens his maw wider than a lion to demonstrate emptiness. “Very good dear, now come and sit down, you’ve still forgotten something.”

He returns to the table to perch on the very rim of the chair. He opens his mouth to speak, notices a discarded Ritz cracker and stuffs it in without thought, “pls…..ma…lif..table?” he sprays. He droops back into the chair, resigned to full munching, without a further word.

“Ooo, where’s your Dad gone?” I say to no-one in particular. This is just as well since half my potential audience is hard of hearing and the other half finds it hard to hear. I scan the garden. Not a trace.

“Pleaz……may I lif dah table now?”
“Yes dear, well done indeed.”

Nonna’s chair scrapes back as she heads off to dead head a rose or two. I sit at the table for six with the debris, in silence, apart from the sickly globuling sound of the fountain.

I swivel to see my son as he hovers around the strawberry pot and the algae covered fountain in the blistering heat. I watch his fingers travel to the one semi ripe bauble. He makes a valiant attempt at a pincher grip but it’s more like a strawberry daiquiri. Little pick pocket!

I say nothing, as he hates strawberries.

“Hey mom!”
“Yes dear?”
“Look………what I...... found.”
“Yes……first this year.”

Same every year, same spot, same fruit, same familiarity although he never seemed to notice them before.

“Dya wannit?”
“Who me?”
“Yup!” he reaches over and uncurls his fingers from his palm. I take the red splat and pop it in my mouth.

“Delicious!”

To Vicki Forman

"Kristina" helps spread the word.

To see for yourself go to "Flickr."


Thank you to "Jennifer" at "Pinwheels" for guiding me through, and to "Shannon" for the "foresight."

We are all "connected" in ways we never thought possible, even if the "words" are sometimes difficult.

Connectivity - building community

I conduct an animated conversation with "Kev" whilst he is fast asleep in England and I’m wide awake in San Jose.

“So what seems to be the problem now then Madeline?”
“Well I just thought it would be nice if we could "connect" all the "nice bloggers" together.”
“Nice! I thought you banned that word?”
“Oops, true but you know what I mean.”
“Actually I don’t?”
“Ah, well as I skip around the blogosphere I come across "like minded" bloggers and it would be good if we could all stay connected.”
“That’s what the "hub" is for, we’re already connected, you’re a "member" remember?”
“Indeed, but there are other blogs, "friendly," "positive" "autism" blogs.”
“That’s what you have a side bar for.”
“I know but the Blogger one is all messed up and I just can’t manage it on the Wordpress thingy.”
“Platform.”
“Pardon?”
“Nevermind! So what do you want to do?”
“I need a button.”
“Button?”
“Yes, a little button perhaps with a plus sign on it that I can just click on it and the new blog just gets added.”
“Why don’t you just use a "reader?”
“I do, but they don’t show up on my blog do they, so we don’t get really connected.”
"Alltop?"
"True, they "cement" us together."
"Aggregator."
"Yes but I'd prefer it if we could all be elmered."
"Elmered?"
"Glued."
"You need to go on a course."
"Which way?"
"Er.....Blogging for Dummies."
"Is that a "plug?"
“Never! I''m far to PC."
"Whatever Mac...... er....... Kev!"
"Peace, love and understanding! Are you really that naive?"
"Yes please! Anyway, I'm only a hop, skip and a jump from Santa Cruz, real granola head land."







"Granola head?"
"Sorry, it's just a little American term that we Americans use."
"Muesli to you! So what happened to your "blogrolling" widget?”
“I mislaid it.”
“How?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I think I clicked on the wrong bit whilst I was cleaning the keyboard.”
“You didn’t stick it in the dish washer did you?”
“Ooo I never thought of that.”

















“Well just re-install it.”
“Good idea. In the meantime a nice big one click button, would do the trick. You know, for people who need font size 24.”
"Clean your bifocals."
"I would, if I could find them."
“It would affect your loading.”
“Really? I did put on a few pounds in England, but that’s actually good for me.”
“No I…......nevermind. Anyway, there are already forums for that kind of thing like "wrong plant.”
“Too old.”
“There’s "Vox" too, "Facebook" and other social networks.”
“Not the same thing at all, and all those logins and passwords are such a pain.”
"Not a lot of working memory then?"
“Sad but true. Then if we all had one we could all add nice blogs that we find.”
“All of us?”
“Yes, one click fits all!”
“I’ll give you click missy.”
“If it quacks like a duck….”
"Anyway, I thought you were giving up blogging from your "Twitter" comments."
"I'm exercising my "wimmins" right to "change" my mind."
“I don’t think you’ve thought this through properly, there could be all sorts of unintended consequences.”
“No such thing, there’s always an underlying thread of "connectivity.”
“Er…..? Run that by me again?”
“You know "band together," make ourselves "heard,” "everyone!" All over the "place."
“I thought you were all for peace and "quiet?”
“I think I’ve fallen off my fence.”
“That can happen if you’re not careful with your pedestals.”
“Oh good, so you’ll do it?”
“It’s not quite as simple as that you know, that’s a lot of work you’re asking for?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
“I’d have to (&#$% *(#)* the platform, regenerate the %^&*, add some #$%^ and probably &^)#@ just to be on the safe side, to say nothing of the graphics and the interface.”
“Is that all?”
“Are you listening?”
“Verily, in troth I doth listen to every syllable thy uttereth.”
“So you get my point?”
“Indeed! Sharp as a tack me.”
“Anyway I’m much to busy seeing to "Estee" at the moment.”
“Really! Now that is interesting.”
“Go to sleep woman!”

Very well, I shall go and pester "Joe" instead, then I shan't feel so "useless!"






Ooo look! "Genevieve Hinson's" already done it!

Always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual.
- Terry Pratchett

Brevity Blog Carnival

A 'green' message with no trash talk - he's no wastrel.

"Single Sentence Movie Review" give it a go!

Cart me off to the funny farm

I take my BRAT’s [*] to celebrate Nonna’s unBirthday at Chilli’s, a delightfully noisy and sticky establishment.

Both boys lack any muscle function and lie splayed on the empty benches. I park one on my lap and clamp the other to my side.

As they are now quite large children, I have the distinct impression that I resemble a Ventriloquist, but that’s paranoia for you. A group of young persons giggle and whisper behind their hands, wrapped in the public eye of exposure and embarrassment in equal proportions. “Dey are be rude?” he enquires.
“Make a U-turn if possible!” bellows his brother, fortunately muffled by the bundle of fleece jackets tucked under my other arm.
“Not really, they’re just at that stage.”
“Wot stage?”
“Make a U-turn if possible!”
“Try and use your indoor voice dear! Er the stage when…….you are the centre of the universe.”
“Wot?”
“Nevermind……they’re not being rude, just……private.”
“You are say it rude to be whisper.”
“Make a U-turn if possible!”
“Quiet inside voice lovie. Er…..there’s different kinds of whispering……ooo look the thingummy is buzzing, our table must be ready.” Perhaps we should all try and whisper?

Our party of five lumbers in the general direction of the table with only a few false starts and stumbles. Nonna fumbles for her glasses so I offer to read it aloud.

“Pardon! What you say?” she asks in her thick Italian accent. I detect that her hearing aides are also adrift.

The server appears for our drinks order. My eldest son makes a valiant attempt. I wait until she’s left, “well done dear, very polite indeed. Next time shall we speak a bit louder so that she can hear you better in this noisy place?” He grins hugely, so grown up.

“What is dis?” asks Nonna pointing at a menu description. I guide her hand to the picture, “ah! I see.”

By the time the server returns, we have our choices ready, so does my youngest son who bellows “I want chocolate milk and fries please!” An extreme event for a neophobic! The server leans back from the blast but manages a smile.

Orders placed, server departed, I reach over to him, “great job young man! Maybe you can try and use your indoor voice next time?”
“You said louder..er….er……louder!”
“Yes I know I did. Louder for him, quieter for you.”
“You say no whisper!”
“I know but….” I am interrupted by the arrival of a group of servers at the next booth, who break into an even louder “happy birthday chorus.” Both the boys clamp their hands over their ears. My sons look at me, accusingly. They slip under the table to engage in their brand new interest, lumps of chewing gum. Ideally I should like them to sit on their hands. Alternatively, I would just like them to sit, preferably on the chairs.

The food arrives in a timely fashion. “What is dis?” asks Nonna tapping her country fried steak with her knife.
“Steak.”
“What you say?”
“It’s steak,” I add, slightly louder with precise diction and enunciation.
“Pardon.”
“Country fried steak.”
“Again please, I can’t hear you properly.”
“ S…t…e…a…k,” I spell.
“Pardon me, again?”
“STEAK!” I yell, turning ever so slightly puce in the face. The boys look at me, eyes like saucers, frozen. I hear him whisper “she is mad?”

Maybe I am, or very soon will be.

[*] Beautifully Rambunctious Autistic Tribe
Rats to you Mr. Savage.

Here is another blog that's newish to me that you might enjoy, "The Funny Farm." Need somewhere to start? How about here on her post called "
Love me some Bean," coz you know I'm a little biased. Don't forget to say hello to her!

In addition, here's another new favourite that's really an old favourite before I lost all my bookmarks called "Send Chocolate." If this IS new to you then you might like to start here on her insightful post called "What I learned." If that's not community spirited then I don't know what is!

There again, I think I could do a lot worse that sign myself up for "Julie's" "camp." I wonder if they have a height limit?

What was that?

Age limit?

Ooo you big rudey!

Cheers dears