I'm Back...And Have Great News!

Classes are winding down, but I cannot contain my excitement. Even though I want to talk about my own successes, first and foremost, I want to crow like a happy, proud Mommy for my oldest son, Andrew.

During the big silence here on this blog lately, my son has survived a whirlwind of activity. First came the Youth Summer Job Program workshop and job fair. Then came the week away with DORS (Division of Rehabilitative Services) for a career assessment. We are still waiting on the report from DORS, which usually takes a month or two. We do know that he passed all the assessments with flying colors. That alone makes me very hopeful.

The summer job workshop wouldn't allow parents to even go into the room, which made me very upset. Even though the program was slanted toward children with developmental disabilities, it didn't seem like the program leaders knew anything or had any training in actually placing children with autism or learning disabilities in the job market. Then came the fiasco of a job fair that left my son stressed and turned off. Over 1000 children showed up, crowding the hotel lobby and walkway. We never received the time allocation call, so we showed up first thing in the morning (8:00am) only to find out that he didn't need to be there until 11:30am. By the time our allotted time came, the place was packed and we couldn't even find the end of the line. By this time, my son was visibly stressed and pacing. I decided that the whole atmosphere was not conducive to a good interview and left. If he couldn't be seen in a positive light, what was the point of seeing anyone?

Having a child with high-functioning autism requires a lot of groundwork. Nothing is ever just off the cuff. If neuro-typical young adults need to practice for interviews, it is imperative that young adults with autism practice early and often. For weeks ahead of time, Andrew practiced the right pressure for a handshake. Not too firm to crush their fingers and always more gentle with women, a little more firm with men. We worked on making that eye contact, which was very hard for Andrew to maintain. I literally counted off seconds so he could understand how long to hold a gaze. Low emotional expression is the norm for him, so we practiced flashing those pearlies at least once every minute or so. Even if he just tugged at the corners of his mouth that was better than his usual dead-pan look. He hates smiling, unless there is a joke, so I told him to think of something funny, but don't break out in laughter. He thought that was funny!

Finally we went through a whole series of interview questions, a body language overview and what to do with his hands. Even though his step-dad was with him during the interview (I let him know that having parents was unusual, but that for his first time out, I thought it was necessary), he was to look, listen and learn how interviews go.

After about a week, we got a call asking if Andrew had gone on any interviews. We said no. She mentioned a car painting warehouse. I explained that Andrew has high-functioning autism/Asperger's and also that I had allergies (he couldn't come home smelling like paint or chemicals) and was mobility impaired. I know it came out like a mouthful, but there wasn't anyway to get around it. We needed a miracle.

Well, never underestimate God when you ask for a miracle.

Last week, we got a call to see if Andrew would go out for an interview at a furniture manufacturer in a nearby town. It was for furniture assembly. I pictured sawdust everywhere. I was concerned about glues or stains, but felt like it was better than all day painting. On the day of the interview, I tucked his resume (that I had expertly typed up for him) in an folder and told him to hand that to the person who interviewed him. My hubby took him down and I crossed my fingers.

Well, he came back, saying that they wanted him to come back again to meet with the CFO of the company for a possible office job. I was simply ecstatic! Trying not to make him antsy, I tried to stay calm, while I told him I had hoped for something like this.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against working on the warehouse floor, but I don't know a single child with autism that likes noisy, dusty environments with a lot of people (my son hates everything like that from movie theaters, amusement parks to malls). He will do what I ask him to do, but after awhile, you will see the strain in his behavior, mood and body. Plus he would be on his feet all day long and he has low muscle tone in his hands and arms. I knew that initially, he would do okay, but eventually, he would begin to suffer from it.

Well, today, was the interview. I sent him out in his taupe pants and his office blue shirt. He looked just like an office employee, and at six feet tall now, he makes an impressive entry. I prayed he would get that job.



And, he did!

Monday of next week, he starts as assistant to the accounting office, and working directly with the CFO of the company!

I am so excited, I could cry and scream at the same time! They are even negotiating whether he can be paid more due to the different nature of the job from the summer program. He will work 30 hours a week to start and if this works out, he may have the opportunity to return next year during school and the summer after that.

Out of all the hardship we have endured lately (we are financially quite strapped, trying to provide all the special care everyone needs in here), this was a godsend! Andrew is very thrifty with money, so I know we won't have to worry about him squandering it all (he still has gift cards from Christmas!). This will give him experience and confidence.



He participated in our annual community clean-up this last weekend. As he road off in a truck with the other men to pick up items from the elderly, I realized that I am saying good-bye to my little boy. He went off and didn't even look back. Monday, when I drop him off to work (the office is literally 10 minutes from our house!), I am sure he will do the same thing.

It will hurt, but in the end, I'll be okay. I raised him to do just what he is doing; growing up confident and able.

BTW, one line for me. I got a 99.4 in Project Management and 100 in Image Editing.

Dear Kid Saturday-May 23, 2009

Dear Kid Saturdays at Cutest Kid Ever

I have to admit, I have not been consistent with writing a letter to my kids every Saturday. I guess I tend to tell them everything! That may not sound good, but I learned early to rely on auditory lessons with my kids than text based lessons. Probably you will read more of these than they will, but who knows? One day they may look back and view this blog, and see what Mom was thinking about at this time. So, here is my Dear Kids Saturday note for May 23, 2009.

Dear Son,

This month has been a bit of a whirlwind. We started off with SATs, signed up for summer employment and now, we are studying the MVA driving manual together. If I didn't realize it before, the last 30 days should really convince me that you are growing up. We are talking about your high school graduation next year. We are discussing going to see your biological dad in Georgia for the summer. We are talking about letting you stay in the house for four days by yourself, while we take your younger brother to his dysautonomia support group conference.

Are we really having these conversations?

I don't want to drag out the pictures, but I remember so many stops along the way during these last 16, soon to be 17 years. I remember you as a little boy; withdrawn but yet so adorable. I remember your grandfather and grandmother holding you and saying a prayer over you like you were the chosen one. Their first grandson that neither one would live to see grow up. How they doted on you for those precious three years they had with you.

I remember the inquisitional first Student Support Meeting when I was told you would never finish high school. I never told you that story until you were in high school. Now, you repeat the story every time you get your report card and remind me how wrong even the best intentioned humans can be. I remember teaching you so many things: the meaning of zero, how to hid your fidgety hands, how to stand still when people talked (though rocking was allowed!), how to shake hands firmly while at least glancing at people's eyes; so many subtle little things that make people not believe me when I say you have autism and a speech and language disorder.

I remember the decisions we have made together, you and I. How you have so sweetly become the "little man" of the house. You have your grandfather's gentle spirit in the lean, tall body of your father. The combination is pure joy to my heart. It is like having the best of both people here with me every day.

I realize driving is scary. I know you aren't sure what you want to do for the rest of your life. I know change is hard for you. Even as we speak of next year and its graduation, college visits and four months stay at the DORS campus, I see the tension in your shoulders.

I am not worried. You have made it this far. Farther than anyone in that little elementary school in suburban Queens, NY thought you would go. I know you will succeed.

Guess what, though? It is okay to be a little afraid of the change. I am, too. We will make it.

Hunger Strike For Autism?

Today, I received disturbing news from one of the bloggers I follow.

Michael Buckholtz is the blogger for the non-profit organization he founded called Aid For Autistic Children Foundation, Inc. As usual, I stumbled across his blog as I perused the many Twitter posts for autism. As a person who was not diagnosed with his spectrum disorder until grown, he brings a unique perspective to the world of autism and Asperger's. As my son grows into manhood, I appreciate that perspective.

However, Michael is going on a fast to bring awareness to the plight of those families that deal with autism, but who do not have bankrolls (or even houses to mortgage) to pay for their child's care.

He is on a 30-day hunger strike.

I am not here to judge, but I still don't like the idea of having to fast to get the attention of people. I don't know if he is being followed by a doctor to monitor his health as he does this. And, with over 900 friends on his page, some of them doctors, I am appalled at the lack of response.

Does the autism community need hunger strikes? Do we need to get grass-roots and sit-in on some senators or insurance companies to get attention to the needs of our children? Have we really come to that?

Michael thinks so.

Earlier, he asked people to write the publicist he hired in support of his book. I wrote a lengthy email. There was not even an autoresponder from Ms. Barnett.

I want awareness, but I don't want our children or even our adults with autism to have to go to such extremes to get attention. Of course, he is free to do whatever he wants, but I hope by my writing this up in two of my blogs, that people will become aware of his journey.

I know April was Autism Awareness Month, but autism doesn't take a vacation or only show up once a year. It is a disorder that families go bankrupt over, marriages fall apart over, and mother after mother (and plenty of dads!) work from dawn until dusk, caring for their children. There are elderly parents still caring and truly worrying about what happens when they are gone.

I am not sure what I want to ask my readers to do. I do want you to click through to his pages. I do want you to support him. But, most of all, I want to open the dialogue. Is it time for the community of people whose lives are touched by autism to go to more radical ways. Is it time to go past petitions and walks?

What do you think?

Fix Your Child!

I have got to stop doing this.

Starting out as a comment to a friend's journal entries on Trusera, I ended up writing too many characters to fit in the message box. Instead of deleting 258 characters, I decided to turn it into a blog post. This is the second time this has happened. Mostly, I just end up leaving really long responses. But, today, this ended up having a life of it own.

My friend was reading the latest assessment for her son. She was frightened and angry at the same time. She wanted answers. She wanted quick answers. She knew she wouldn't get them, but in her heart, she wanted them just the same. If someone could have walked up and handed her a prescription that would take all the deficits away, she would have taken it and parted with every earthly possession she owned to get it.

She didn't want to hear "nothing can be done." She didn't want to hear about how autism can be a blessing. And, I responded with my own, similar feeling.

Read on.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I would NEVER tell anyone that their child should or shouldn't be "fixed." That is not the right word for what you want to do. You want to help your child succeed. They need intervention. It exists and you want them to have it. There are so many ways to help our children. Therapies, tapes, DVDs, our own behavior and drive, etc.- all this can make a difference.

I realize that some people have severely delayed children, who remain non-verbal, wearing diapers into their middle school years. I realize there is a side to autism that is aggressive, violent and even dangerous. They are in a different place than you or I. Where I am, I can see a tunnel. It is a long one, but it has a faint light at the end of it.

When I was told my son needed a special school and would never graduate high school, I dug my heels in and fought. Every night, over and over again. Fought the delays, the stimming, the inattention, all of it. Through what I now know is called modeling, I shaped his responses. Eventually, we could understand each other. Not always, but enough. Once we could understand each other, then the real work began. Over and over, like a broken record, I explained the world to him. How he should stand; how close he could get to people. If he walked out of a room while someone was talking, how it would appear to the other person. How to hug. How to hug tightly. How to kiss his mother good-night. We even formed a ritual around that. We patted them into our cheeks to make sure they couldn't be wiped off. At 16, I still occasionally catch him doing it.

This Saturday, my son will take his first SAT. I don't expect high grades. I expect him to finish. As I type this, his practice test is printing. We will go over it, line by line. He will take the test again next year, his final year in high school. He is on time and on no meds. He has driving assessments, a 2 week career assessment with assistance. He will go away for 4 months next year to live away from family. He is not on the disability they asked me to file for him 11 years ago.

My 2nd son has speech, language and memory delays. We fight the lack of language skills through picture and video vocabulary, mind-mapping software, practice, practice and more practice. Even though his prognosis is more grim, I forge ahead and fight his brain's deficits. I expect more and each day, we, he and I, somehow get it.

This is my rant today and my advice. Don't ever stop fighting to uncover the abilities your child possesses. Whatever level your child functions, don't just accept and be content. You may end up like me; a tired, but triumphant mother of the best two people I know.

Learning to Be Less Than Perfect

I received my final grades today. One A and one A-.

Now, why do I look at that A- and wish it were an A? I mean, I came so close. I was at 94.73, but my final project fell short of the instructor's rubric, so I didn't make it.

I admit it is my mother talking. I had a seriously Type-A Mom, back before they had terms like that. If you brought home a 95, she'd say "why couldn't it be a 96 or a 97?" I once received a final grade of 99 in a biology class. A final grade! And, yes, she asked me (and the teacher, mind you!) why didn't I get an 100? No one had ever got a 99, and she kept pushing for that perfect grade. The pressure used to be ridiculous. It didn't help that my older brother graduated high school at 15 1/2. Being the middle child, I was expected to be as good, if not better.

I wasn't.

I was the artsy, dreamy, talk to myself under the kitchen table-type kid. I sat in mimosa trees, smelling the blossoms and deciphered shapes in the clouds. I started out badly in school, nearly flunking 3rd grade.

Was I too rambunctious (old term for ADHD)or didn't turn in my work? Nope. I just talked too much! LOL!! I laugh at that now. I just couldn't stop getting involved with everyone in the class and finding out how they were doing. Well, my mother had a real good talking to me (in those days, that meant, spanking) and I realized that I wasn't going to master anything talking all the time. So, I buckled down. Real hard.

And, went on to be salutatorian of my middle school and graduate in the top 2% of my high school class. And, still, she kept pushing for more.

Little did she know that physically, I was pushing myself to utter sickness and exhaustion. I never missed a day, until one day, in utter pain, I just walked out the the school. Top grades and all, I needed to rest.

College proved to be disastrous. My eyes couldn't take it and my body seemed to be constantly racked with some virus or flu. To my darling mother's utter consternation, I never finished a degree. Five colleges and no degree. She was mortified. I really think I was relieved.

Now, I am the parent and I have two lovely boys, who are far from stellar in grades. My older Aspie son is average, not your savant Aspie in any way. My youngest son probably has permanent memory damage and has a speech/language deficit. I learned early on that I could not have the same attitude of my mother. I had to cut them some slack.

And, today, I realized that I have to cut myself some slack, too. I deserve to be okay with less than perfect. I deserve to turn the record player of parental disapproval off and enjoy my return to school.

On Twitter today, @steveKrull wrote this:

Some days I face #autism head on. Some days I hide from it and I don't know exactly why. Answers?

I answered with this:


But isn't that like life? Look at the hiding days as reflective. No one takes life on head on everyday. Even God rested. #autism

Boy, I am sure my mother is rolling over in the grave. But, when I look back on that tweet, I realize I have learned to take it easy. Perfect grades don't make perfect lives. And, all of us have something to offer, even if it is less than perfect. Some days we are gung-ho, and other days, we need to hide.

Hmmm, haven't I come a long way.

Thanks to autism and dysautonomia, and learning to love my dreamy, nurturing, artsy self.

Asperger's and the SAT/ACT Test

How I got here, I don't even know.

From a child that rocked and flapped and disappeared into his own world to a junior in high school, who is facing the stiffest tests in any young person's life. Don't ask me how I got here. One day at a time doesn't seem to do it justice. And I haven't gone crazy and neither has he. Don't say there aren't miracles.

I don't know any numbers and I am too tired to do the research, but how many children with Asperger's take their SATs or the ACTs? I am not talking about gifted Aspies. I am the mother of the run-of-the-mill child with average intelligence according to all the tests he's taken, but with definite below-average verbal skills. I won't parade the numbers in front of you, but he was diagnosed with Receptive/Expressive Speech Disorder since he was in elementary school. His recent testing put his reading comprehension age around 8 years old. And yet, his word recognition age is around 21 years old. Should he even attempt the SAT with a vacillating scores like that? He is pulling a C in Math and we have struggled to keep those grades in the high C range. It just seemed too far out there.

I know this is a side topic, but he is always talking outside the box,
creating new words and positively amazing us all with his quirky insights.I have talked/tweeted with other mothers who tell me great stories. I still remember a child grunting, whistling and humming.but now, he loves to create words that aren't in the dictionary (he knows this, because he loves to read the dictionary!). One word that family and friends have adopted is "linner." Linner is the comparative word for brunch. Brunch = breakfast and lunch. Linner = lunch and dinner. Linner is like a very late brunch or early supper. I told him people used to use the word supper, but he just replied, No, Mom, that word is used just like dinner now, so we need a new word." Can't argue with that one, so we use linner.

Well, back to the topic at hand; here we are in his junior year, and everyone is talking college. "College!?! What!!?!!," as I gasp and sputter. Yes, the school and this crazy program I signed him up for (since we don't get therapy at all, I sign him up for every free program I can get my hands on. He has been in AVID, Education Talent Search,etc) are sending home reams of paper and thick, glossy books entitled "The 411 on College."

I signed him up for the SAT. Then I took a look at the SAT. Kinda backwards, I know, but a lot is going on in our house lately. It hit me real hard: there is an essay requirement on the SAT. ESSAY. 8 yr. old comprehension. Okay, that's not good.

I did make a half-hearted attempt to search the library and online for help, but quickly realized that this test was just not going to happen.The study guides were thick, newsprint looking monstrosities. The tapes had suspiciously vanished. Dead end. Then, I headed online. YouTube (which, by the way, my son loves at the moment) had videos, but I couldn't get into any of them. Maybe I am wrong, and if someone finds a great one, let me know. Nothing moved me at all. It didn't look like this was going to happen. At least, not by May 13th (remember, like a dope, I scheduled before the due diligence)

My son has become very resilient over the years. We have no more meltdowns, we have no more stiff as a board "honey, are you there?" episodes. But, remembering my SAT almost through me into a panic and I remember scoring very high. I just couldn't do this to him. So, I decided that he would take the ACT. What is the difference?

SATs test critical thinking, logic and reasoning, where the ACT focuses more on what have you learned scholastically. I don't think I need to tell you that they really don't want my son to draw conclusions or make critical thinking analyses. They would never believe their eyes. The kind of leaps and connections he makes here at home are out of this world. But, still the problem was preparation. Even with a total multiple choice test with no essay, he needed prep.

And then, I found it. E-Prep. I fell in love. Here was a site that looked like it was MADE for us. Video run instruction. The ability to stop videos at any time. An entire prep course in video, showing, not just telling. I am in love.

I don't do reviews very often, and this is not really one either. Check the site out, but this is the answer for BOTH my children. For the oldest, who has a fantastic memory, he will quickly remember the video instructions. For my young son, who has a damaged memory system, the moving visuals that can be repeated are perfect in order to increase retention and recall. Unlike static words or audio, videos always seem to ease learning and remembering for him.

The downside? Yes, there is one. The course is not free. But they do give options that run from $69.00 to $249.00. Somehow, some way, I will scrounge up the money for one of the courses in the middle. Hopefully, it will be enough to give him a good grade. And, then we can start discussing what he would like to study and what he would like to be.

Now, that folks, is a WHOLE other post. Must tell you about the fun we are having getting him to volunteer and find a job.

Until next time, take care.

Twitter Blog Post -#Autism

The following is a Twitter conversation that I think needs to be saved. Tweets come and go, but hearing a mother's joy about her child's progress is priceless.


#AUTISM #ASD our ABA therapist said friday that our little guy isnt autistic (?) and that he is moving rapidly 2 verbal (many words already!

@nika7k Possible Asperger's? My son started with several diagnoses. At 16, now, considered Aspie. #AUTISM #ASD

@judielise Yep, thats what we were thinking too #AUTISM #ASD

@judielise he is now acquiring tons of words and using in context - LOVE growth spurts - ABA is the BEST #AUTISM #ASD

@nika7k Glad ABA so successful for u. Wasn't around when I really needed it. I support the program. #AUTISM #ASD

@judielise sorry not avail then... Iam profoundly thankful that MA covers 14 hours a week ABA 100% #AUTISM #ASD

@nika7k U give main reason why I support program! So many children out there, older 1s, parents lost w/o guidance. #AUTISM #ASD

@nika7k I had to make it up/create it as we went along. He taught me what worked, I repeated over and over. #AUTISM #ASD

@judielise excellent! in 2 weeks our guy went from just 3 -4 words to MANY more and driven to LEARN more, that last is key #AUTISM #ASD

I believe all children want to interact w/world. Our job=finding out what key opens door connecting child2world. #AUTISM #ASD

And then accepting child's level of interaction when they have reached full potential. #AUTISM #ASD

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Repost: College Chances Grow for Those with Intellectual Disabilities

This is a repost from Patricia Bauer's blog, Disability News. She has a wonderful blog full of news and tidbits that I usually don't find anywhere else. Even though I am just starting out following disability blogs, I enjoy her approach to the material she reposts. Please visit her blog. Click on the Title for the direct link to the post.

The 16-year old in the Unique Family is getting ready to tackle the SATs and the ACTs. I cannot even believe we are discussing this. There was a time when I held no hopes for college or even a high school diploma. And yet, he is here.

Within her post, she mentions a site that is collecting information on colleges and universities that are making strides in providing transitional services, inclusion and assistance for our children to continue on into college.

For my son, we are going to try to go. I am not sure what that future holds, but the opportunities are there for him, and we intend to take them. I will have more on this as the weeks go by. His first SAT test will be in May and his ACT in June. I am looking into SAT prep for him now.

Updates, Updates - Part 3

Well, next up is my oldest son. At the wonderful age of 16 (going on 17), he is the wonder of the family. How he got here, please don't really ask me. I do not have a degree in child psychology or development. I probably made so many mistakes along the way. But you need some background...

It is a mother's instinct that knows something is not right with her child. He was my first, but it was my mother who began to point out little things only a month or two after he came home. I had seen it too, but didn't know what to make of it. He needed to be swaddled. He hated bright lights and hot environments. We could never find a formula he liked and he couldn't grasp breastfeeding.

By a couple of months, he was sleeping in the basement (yes!) in a stroller. No noises with the close walls of the stroller made him relax. I hated it. The empty bassinet with custom sewn covers sat empty next to my bed, while I listened furtively to a child monitor late into the night.

But it didn't take long for me to realize. This kid was like clockwork. In fact, by the time I went back to work when he was almost a year, I handed the babysitter several sheets of paper, outlining everything he would do.

When he pooped. When he ate. How hot the bottles had to be. How thick the formula had to be. When he would sleep. I stressed to her: keep to the schedule and you will have a perfect day. Don't, well, just keep to the schedule.

Now, she must have thought I was crazy, but after two days, she said incredulously, that she had NEVER had a child stick to a schedule so perfectly in all her experience.

He began to talk. Clearly, everyone remembers "tank you" and "pease" at just around 12 months. He walked on time. Everything was going well.

Then suddenly, he began to go quiet. He rocked a little. He stopped looking at you when you called him. Soon, he stopped responding at all. You had to go up to him and talk to the back of his head. After awhile, he flapped, sitting and rocking in a baby rocker he was way too old for. He never picked up any crayons, pens or markers and doodled. He played with the manual can opener. He became preoccupied with trains.

In NY, parents start their little ones off early. By 2 1/2, he was in a daycare/preschool. Within six months, he was out. Wandered around too much, they said. Just left in the middle of class. Nearly left the building. We were back to babysitters.

By 4, he only whistled, grunted and pointed. Growled when you couldn't figure out what he wanted. He wore the same clothes until I hid them and said I couldn't find them, hoping he would attach himself to something new. Went to bed like clockwork and woke the same way. There was no eye contact, no kisses and never a hug. No smiles. He was never aggressive or hurful. Just a little wandering robot playing with his fingers.

At this point, I have to interject that this was the lowest point of my life as well. Within six months, I would lose my job, my marriage, my parents (seven weeks apart) and come to realize that my boy may have something called autism, something I saw on PBS late one evening. Oh yes, and I was pregnant with my 2nd son.

I am going to fast forward through the really hard years, raising two chldren as a single parent for 10 years. My son not accepted in various schools for very long. He had such problems with sensory sensitivities-the bells, chairs moving, people scratching their pencils on paper-drove him crazy.

We moved twice, saw loads of doctors who spat out lines like jackpot slot machines. Lines like, he may never improve (remember this was '95-'96), he would need years of therapy (not covered by any insurances) and you need to get on this or that waiting list for services. And, oh yeah, file for disability. *Sigh*

I remember asking God for one thing. Give me five good years, Lord. Give me five good, long years, and I will prove this kid could learn.

We finally landed in Maryland in 1999. By this time, I had the single mother thing down to a science. And, I knew how to ask questions. "Where does everyone else go?" "Who has a good program?" We ended up at Kennedy Krieger. Test after test finally revealed a diagnosis. PDD/Austism. It would be several more years before it was upgraded to Asperger's Syndrome.

In between is a blur I don't completely remember. Every moment, I poured something into his little thin body and mind. Language, music, news, jokes, colors; anything that got him to make eye contact, make a sound, ask for something with words, we repeated over and over.

One story always sticks out. Sorry, I wish I could remember exactly how old he was, but it escapes me. I remember a class assignment on the number zero. The assignment sheet was a lovely scene of grass, rocks, clouds. The questions asked how many rocks, how many clouds and how many sheep. The correct answer was zero sheep. He kept shouting 5. Over and over again, I went through the explanation. Still 5. Finally, I said, "Well, if there are five, tell me where they are?" He answered, "one is behind a rock, one jumped in the water to get a fish, one wandered off to look at a buttercup (!!), and two went home because they were tired."

I remember staring. Then it hit me. He added! HE ADDED!! And, he talked in BIG, LONG SENTENCES!!!

So, I quietly asked, "If all that is true, everyone's gone. How many sheep are left?"

"ZERO," he announced confidently.

Just imagine so many more years of that, and you have an idea of what went on. Fractions meant measuring cups with food coloring and water. Reading literature meant acting out the scenes or searching the internet for related videos and pictures. Homework took hours, broken up into little chunks. Storytime was always punctuated with extra dialogue and sounds. So much so, he was disappointed when he finally began to read well enough to only discover that all that extra stuff was not written in there. Mommy made it up. It kept him focused.

This is getting long, so I won't go into having to bring an educational lawyer in so he could have an assistant from 5th grade through 8th. How I changed things constantly to build in a tolerance for sudden changes (no meltdowns now, just lots of questions! Why, why, why!) How we still struggle to find volunter work for his community servce hours needed in high school(he is still very reclusive, and it is harder now to break routines).

We have the help of our local DORS (Department of Rehabilitative Services). (DDA wouldn't touch him. Our case manager literally told me I did too good of a job) He will have a driving assessment in March, two weeks of career assessments in June and 4 months of living on their campus when he graduates (2010). We have a social skills group he can go to, but with his brother's illness right now, this, unfortunately, has had to take a back seat.

Today, he is a tall, lanky, talkative fellow. One who follows rules to a tee, never forgets his chores and loves animals (future career, we hope!). He will graduate on time with a diploma. He is on no medication (none were found to alter his behavior; we did do trials). He understands he has "something called Asssspergers (he thinks this is funny), but revels in being different.

He is my wonder. I marvel every day. And, thank God, for an answered prayer.

Behavior Modification

This post was actually a reply to a discussion about ADHD and autism. They wanted to know what we had done that gave us success over the disorder.

Having a 16-year old who has overcome so many obstacles in this life, I gave some background on how I raised my son. It was not easy, by any means. And, I had very little help, except for the internet, which back in 1992-1996, was not the big, beautiful web we have today. Most of what I did is trial and error and whatever worked. Here is my response and take on behavior modification.

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Hello, All,I will try to remember what I did because he is now 16 and it is hard to think back so many years.

When he was a baby, we swaddled. Without it, he would hit the walls of the bassinet every other minute and no one got any sleep. Actually, the first six weeks, he slept in a stroller, swaddled in the basement. Now, before you call me cruel, it was the only place with no light and no noise. We used a baby monitor to know when he "really" woke up.

I learned very early on that he needed a routine or we would have a basketcase on our hands. I went back to work early and had a babysitter. Thing was, I walked in with a schedule of two pages! Everything was listed down there from when he would eat to when he probably made a bowel movement. She thought I was crazy, but after two days, she was amazed that everything I wrote down, complete with times, was accurate. If you followed the schedule, he would be fine. If not, screeching baby at ten o'clock.

His food has to be a certain temperature. The bottle nipples had to be a certain size. Too big and he would choke, too small and you got screeches. He couldn't figure out breast feeding, so I didn't. Of course, he had favorite foods and that was it.Life took on a very ordered tone. He has more autism/ADD than ADHD. Not very hyper, though he rocked and flapped regularly. He hated loud noises, crowds (no birthday parties or movie theaters to this day), bright lights and certain materials.

I am saying all of that to say this. The more I kept to a schedule, the calmer he was and then we could do some work together. Change had to be brought in very slowly. Everything had to be introduced. Foods, people, places, school, toys, holidays, etc. For example, a new person was never just brought into the room. He had to hear their voice somewhere in the house and we would wait to see if he would get curious. Most times, not. When he was around 5, it took him a year to speak directly to my best friend who was over almost every day.

As for language, he started talking around 12 months and then stopped. He didn't use regular language again until school. He made up his own language and used sounds. I didn't care what it was, it was communication and we responded. We called it Andrewisms. He still does it to this day, creating language. An old one was Fuf-fuf, it meant cartoons. We figured out later that I kept calling silly cartoons "fluff" and he made up the word to use when he wanted to watch them. Today, we have "linner." It means the meal between lunch and dinner, like brunch is the meal between breakfast and lunch. Whatever it is, we use it.

I am sorry this is long, but I feel very strongly about this. We hardly had any help. I once had a director of an autism center ask me how we taught my son humor. I told her, we laugh a lot and love comics, cartoons and jokes. If he didn't get it, we explained it. We even taught him what laughter sounded like. After many years (like around 10 years) he finally understood. The first time he laughed out loud, I cried. Most of his childhood, he hardly even smiled. Now, all his teachers remark about his cynical, sardonic wit. It is not a "monkey," but his own take on what we taught. EVERYTHING he does today, came that way. As he got better, I built in change and flexibility. Now, at 16, he can accept change on a dime; something almost miraculous in the world of autism.

I don't want anyone to get the idea it was easy. Many times homework was finally finished at 10pm. Or just not finished. He didn't get an aide in school until 5th grade and they promptly took it away in high school. He has the smallest amount of accomodations and hardly any speech and language help. He hardly ever get an A in a class, but his Cs are golden to me. We hardly ever went anywhere, including church. I didn't see the inside of a movie theater for nearly 12 years. And, he was not with me.

I am thoroughly with McDannells on this. We have to teach these kids to be confident in themselves and that they will find a place in this world. Excuses don't matter to the world at all.

Other than that, I give this piece of advice. Do what works. If you have to empty the cupboards and teach fractions using bells, whistles, every measuring cup and spoon, and food coloring (my personal favorite!), do it.

And don't make a monkey out of anyone. I would rather my son be eclectic and innovative than a drugged zombie working in a factory somewhere.