Special Needs Ryan Gosling Friday

Is it just me, or has this been a long week?  Maybe it’s because the school year is ending and summer is starting, but it just seems like there’s angst in the air.

Luckily I have Special Needs Ryan Gosling to look forward to on Fridays, courtesy of Sunday, from Adventures in Extreme Parenthood.

So put aside your contempt for Jenny McCarthy, and her wacky autism antics, and skip reading those articles that imply that autism is caused by pregnancy weight gain, or breathing, or eating bacon, and enjoy Special Needs Ryan.  Be sure to visit the other SNRG contributors listed on Sunday’s site.

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Of Mice and Boys

I knew I couldn’t avoid the torture chamber known as Chuck E. Cheese forever.  It was only a matter of time before the continuous television commercials seeped into Connor’s brain and turned him into a mindless, mouse-zombie.

Also, every Saturday on our way to play group we pass a Chuck E. Cheese.  And every Saturday, Connor says “look mom, Chuck E. Cheese, I want to go there!”

So this past weekend, for Connor’s 7th birthday party, we braved the wilds of ratville and held his birthday party at the noisiest place on earth.  But in order to maintain a degree of sanity, I scheduled it on a Sunday morning, and only invited 3 friends.  They were friends from play group.  Friends that think nothing of a meltdown, or a demand that there be NO SINGING (like there was at his 5th birthday party).  And having a smaller group minimizes the potential of Connor becoming overwhelmed and overstimulated.  I mean, with all the other pandemonium in ratville, at least I could control that one little aspect.

Surprisingly, it went well.  Great, as a matter of fact.

The kids played in the arcade area until it was time for pizza and a show.  Then they all gathered at the table and Connor was presented with a red, inflatable birthday crown, and a special “birthday star” medallion around his neck.  He felt so special, and so important…it was worth every cent.

Then Mick Jagger walked in.

No, not the real Mick Jagger.  It was Chuck, or Mr. E. Cheese as we peasants call him.  When he walked in, the kids Lost. Their. Minds.  One little girl from our group threw her arms around the giant rat and held on for dear life.  Her dad had to pry her off of Mr. E. Cheese, like a groupie at a Motley Crue concert.  Connor high-fived and shook hands, over and over and over again.  He called out, “I love you Chuck E. Cheese!!”

I love you man, I love YOU!

Until finally, Elvis left the building.  Seriously, that’s what the E. stands for.

And then, then it was time to get in the ticket wind booth.  Oh yes, each birthday child gets a turn in the wind booth, where they have 30 seconds to try and grab handfuls of swirling tickets, for redemption at the Booth of Crappy Toys.  And in the swirling mass there is one, coveted blue ticket, worth 1000 tickets (or about 30-cents).  Connor stood in the tunnel, not grabbing tickets, but instead just enjoying feeling the rushing air.  As it came to a stop, he reached down on his way out the door and grabbed the blue ticket.

The magic wind machine of happiness.

Hey man, what the rat doesn’t see won’t hurt him, right?

And oh my god, who do I have to kill to get one of those wind booths delivered to my house??  Hours of fun, I tell ya.

From there, it was cake, presents, and a few final games.  Oh, and we all got to sing “Happy Birthday” without any protestations.  And then, finally, we cashed out all those hard-won tickets, and we came home with:

A giant, purple, bouncing home wrecker…

Yep, no matter how old Connor gets, his first love will always be giant bouncy balls.

Oh, and balloons, of course.

Believe it or not, it was one of the best, and happiest, birthday parties that Connor has ever had.  We had a party in the middle of a noisy, chaotic place, surrounded by screaming kids and giant rats, and it went off without a hitch.

We’ve come a long way in the last couple of years.  There is still work to do, but we have truly seen a lot of growth and change in our son.

Happy Birthday, Connor.

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Special Needs Ryan Gosling Friday

Hey girl (or guy), it’s Friday, which means it’s time to link up with Sunday over at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood for Special Needs Ryan Gosling!

The great thing about this is that I don’t have to think too hard about writing a post, especially since it’s been a long week and the boy hasn’t been sleeping well (which means that we’re not sleeping well either).

Be sure to click on over and see what other great RyGos photo captions are out there!

Without further ado, here’s Ryan…

Ryan is so unbelievably thoughtful!!

Have a great weekend everyone!

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Wordless Wednesday

 

Fear and Loathing in the Bakery Aisle

Connor doesn’t go grocery shopping with me often.  There’s a reason for that and it’s because I like my sanity.

But this weekend, I took him with me because hubs had to work.  I psyched myself up and said “I can do this!”

When I parked the car, I asked him “what are the rules in the grocery store?”

He said, “stay with Mommy, don’t wander away, hold hands in the parking lot, don’t be loud, and don’t talk to strangers!”

We were as ready as we’d ever be, so off we went.  He was super helpful in the produce aisle, bringing me things I asked for and putting them in the basket.  It was going well.  Maybe too well.

Next, we went to down the bakery aisle.  He always stops and oohs and aahs over the cakes in the display case, pointing and saying “I want that one” or “ohhhh, that one looks good!”  So I said, “hey, your birthday is coming up, let’s look through their cake book and pick out a birthday cake.”

Except our display case had an Angry Birds cake.

We moved over to the book, and I started flipping through it.  “They have Spiderman”, I said.

Connor was to my left, and said “no, I don’t want Spiderman.”

I kept flipping, and eventually came to a page with a Batman cake.  “Oh hey, what do you think of this Batman cake?”

“Ahdunwhandit.”

As I turned my head to my left to ask what he’d said, in that tiny, infinitesimal moment, my brain registered that something was amiss.  And in slow motion, I saw Connor LICKING THE GLASS CASE OF THE BAKERY COUNTER.

Not just a harmless, discreet little lick, but a huge, sloppy O-shaped lick, in a big circle.

Such an unusual occurrence that Google doesn’t even have an image for it, this was the best visual I could find.

“OhmygodstopitRIGHTnow!!!”

And I grabbed his hand and as quickly as I could, while pushing a cart and dragging an almost-7-year-old behind me, we fled to the meat department.

“I can’t believe you just did that.  That is disgusting, what were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t help it, the cake looked sooooooo good!”

In all fairness, when discussing grocery store rules of conduct, I neglected to mention that it’s considered poor etiquette to lick the bakery display case.  Betcha I won’t make that mistake again.

Also, I’ll be phoning in the order for his birthday cake.

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Happy Mother’s Day

None of the baby books I read prepared me for my son.

In every way,  Connor was…more.

From the beginning, he let me know that he would do things his way.  In his own time.

And I learned that it was okay.

And I realized how lucky I am that he is not ordinary.  He is extraordinary.

Thank you, Connor, for taking me along on this ride.  I’ll try to keep up.

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Yet Another Instance in Which I Look Like a Crazy Person

Although we’re back to using the drop-off lane at school in the mornings, last week I had to park and walk Connor in to drop some things off.

His school has one of those big, shiny metal buttons near the front door that, when pushed, automatically opens the door.  It’s meant to be used by someone in a wheelchair, but Connor has been steadily obsessed with that button for three years.  Each morning he rushes to the door and hurries to get in front of other kids so he can push the button.  If the door is already open, he will wait for it to close so he can push the button and open it again.

Can’t. Resist. Button.

Since I was walking him in, I decided to make it a teachable moment.  And also, I’m not much of a thinker first thing in the morning. Go figure.

So, this particular morning I told him we would walk together all the way to the door.  No running ahead.  We cross in the cross walk, step onto the sidewalk, and I notice his pace steadily increasing, until he is sprinting.  I stop.  I call him and tell him to come back to me, and walk together.

Remember, it’s morning.  There are all kinds of kids and parents scurrying around.  I don’t usually do stupid things without witnesses.

As we walked to the door, I told him we were going to just walk in without pushing the button.

“But I like to push the button.”

“I know, but every morning that’s all you can think about, and I want you to see that we can walk right past that button and go inside, and it’s not a big deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal, why can’t I push the button?”

“Because you’re stuck on that button, and you need to get unstuck!”

As we neared the door, I saw his arm reach out, but I quickly grabbed it back and repeated, “we’re not pushing the button this morning, just let it go.”

We got to the door, he pulled it open, and in his sweetest, most respectful voice ever, said “after you, ladies first.”

My heart swelled with pride.  I turned and thanked him, and told him he was having wonderful manners.  Hey other parents, see that?  See how mannerly my kid is??  As I stepped through the door, I turned…just in time to see him dash for the button and push it.

Nicely played, Connor.  Nicely played.

And this is why I should always stay in the car, because I’m not even smarter than a first grader, let alone a fifth grader.

No. No I’m not.

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You Can’t Punish Away Autism

When Connor was little, I remember trying to implement time-out when he was naughty.  See, Super Nanny said that you would have to put them back in the time-out spot, over and over, until they stayed, and you had to be consistent with it or they would never learn.

For two solid hours, I repeatedly put Connor back in his time-out spot, only to have him immediately jump right back up again.  My lower back muscles were screaming, and there was an endless loop of verbal abuse playing in my head. “Super Nanny said you have to stick with it, or they win.  How much do I suck as a mom when I can’t get my three-year-old to comply after two hours?  I’m failing miserably, why won’t this work?”

It all made sense, a year later, when we received the diagnosis.  And yet it’s still so easy to slip into the mindset of “why can’t I make my kid behave?

We’ve come a long way, and understand so much more, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still make those same mistakes almost every day.  As hard as it is for us, as the parents, it is even harder to get others to understand positive behavioral support, and harder still to get them to follow it.

Last week, I arrived to pick up Connor from the after-school program.  He was sitting in the time-out chair.  The director told me that he was having a great day, and they rewarded him with being line leader when coming back from recess, and holding the door open for his friends to enter the cafeteria.  While holding the door, with his backside against it, he bumped the door back and forth with his butt.  Before she could catch up to him to tell him to stop, he bounced it enough that the tension lever at the top broke.   The vice principal was called, and he came to take a look at it so he could call someone to fix it.  And Connor sat in time out.

In a voice so low it was almost a whisper, I told her I didn’t agree with the time-out.  He was rewarded for good behavior, then he did something that wasn’t malicious, or meant to cause harm, and was punished for it.  He was punished for an accident.  If it had been me, I explained, I would have enrolled him in being part of the solution, and asked him to help by talking to the vice principal about how to get the door fixed.  End of story.

And then I said, “we’re damaging this child.”  Her eyes got big, and we both turned to look at Connor, sitting at a table about 15 feet away, and he was sobbing uncontrollably.  Tears welled up in the director’s eyes.

We left and Connor had a 40-minute meltdown of hysterical crying.  As much trouble as he gets into, as often as he refuses to comply with directions, as often as he is lippy and sassy, he was so hurt and crushed by what happened because it was an accident.  It was an innocent playful thing that he did, that we’ve all done at one time or another, and it quickly escalated into yet more punishment.

And yet again, I feel powerless.  No matter how much information I come armed with, no matter how many times I explain positive reinforcement, it doesn’t matter if they don’t use it.  I’m acutely aware that the program isn’t staffed for providing intensive, direct support for one child.  But I’m still left with the question that if 1 in 88 kids are diagnosed on the spectrum, why don’t programs recognize that and staff accordingly?

It seems like putting my child in a “special” care situation is the only alternative, and probably the preference for staff that would rather not deal with the challenge.  But if my son was in a wheelchair, I can’t help but think that he would be accommodated.

When it comes to academics, the school pushes for him to learn, keep up, follow the rules, master the routine, because he needs “to learn it now because he will be in school for many more years.”  But when it comes to being part of the group in a social context, there is no emphasis on supporting him in the appropriate way to prepare him for later years.

The school year is drawing to a close in a few weeks.  I could look for other after-school options for next school year, but I think we will continue in the same program.  If I want integration and inclusion to be more than just words, I have to keep showing up every day…like ABA, perhaps my consistent, positive approach will eventually reap results.

Because I know my kid won’t be the last one with challenges to be in their program.  There will always be another.

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Special Needs Ryan Gosling, in a Pool!

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for Sunday’s Special Needs Ryan Gosling photo.

Be sure to check out all the other creative photo captions for Ryan, by clicking on over to Sunday’s site.

This week, Ryan is gearing up for summer and enjoying the nice weather.

Happy, happy Friday!

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Springtime. And Art.

The wild, parasitic rabbit population in the neighborhood has exploded, and I’m itching my nose like a downtown junkie. The grass is already fading to a golden brown, and I’ve pulled out the extra strength deodorant. Yes friends, that must mean it’s springtime (springtime in Texas means 90 degrees)!!

Hi! I'm fuzzy and cute and I make dogs go completely ape-shit and try to tunnel right through sliding glass doors. And I'm coming soon, to a neighborhood near you...

Judging from the artwork that’s coming home lately, the teachers are not immune to the allure of the season. The project that came home the other day was quite surprising. It’s a model. The shaft is about 12 inches long (quite big!), and the tip was formed by using an inverted Dixie cup. There’s a round appendage attached on each side of the shaft, and they’re rather wrinkly. It’s a rather meaty, sturdy piece, and quite impressive to hold in your hand. Connor was very excited to show off his piece of art.

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It's a rocket. What were you thinking??? Perv.

Today another model came home. A giant, blue ball. The kids were assigned planets to create using papier-mache, which they applied over a balloon.

Know which planet Connor was assigned? Uranus. Go ahead, say it. Yer anus. I suppose it almost made sense to pair Uranus with the giant, blue-tipped shaft. But honestly, I thought long and hard about Uranus, and longed for a model of Pluto or Neptune.

Yep, that's Uranus.

I’ll bet you didn’t know Uranus was blue, did you? I always thought of Uranus as milky-white, but I guess not. Uranus is blue.

At first I had the impression that the teacher was sending us a message, having Connor make a phallic-looking rocket, and then assigning him Uranus for an art project. But it seems in the interest of avoiding childish, brash humor, they have changed the pronunciation of Uranus to “yer-a-nuss”. At least that’s how Connor is pronouncing it. So perhaps there is no hidden message in assigning “yer-a-nuss” on top of a giant rocket assignment.

Maybe if they taught children the ancient Greek myth that explains that Uranus was the husband of Mother Earth, who were the parents of the first generation of Titans, then they wouldn’t belittle the name in such a crass way, and there’d be no need to change the way it’s pronounced.  Nah, who am I kidding, it’s just too easy to make fun of that planet.

Either way, the pronunciation has been changed, and we now have a giant shaft and blue ball on display.

Springtime…and first grade art, gotta love it.

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