Fair Trade
Our Can I Sit With You? project is just so damn cool. And attracting such damn cool writers! Not so many comments, though, even though people keep approaching me to tell me how kicky the stories are.
So, I'm asking for your help. If you plug CISWY on your blog and/or leave a comment, I will go plug/comment on the blog of your choice. And this is big, because I don't comment much at all except within in a very small circle of blogs by writers I personally know. Come on, the kids are depending on you!
Thanks,
10.11.2007
10.09.2007
Dewy Eyed
Dewy Eyed
Yesterday I experienced one of those truly precious, total connection Leelo moments. Though rare, these interludes seem to be on the increase.
Leelo was siting at the kitchen counter, looking like he needed something to do. I handed him a toy and said, "Leelo, this is Dewy."
Leelo grabbed Dewy, gave Dewy a huge smile, gave me another huge smile, looked me right in the eye, and said -- totally naturalistically and like any other happy little boy -- "I *like* Dewy!"
(Does this mean it was a good thing for Mali to ransack the local gaming store so quickly and thoroughly that the owner gave her Dewy in a desperate attempt to distract her?)
Leelo is starting to do a lot of pretend play. I keep seeing him making his Catbus *be* a Catbus, and keep catching him pushing Mali's stroller around the back yard. Maybe we should get him one of those pretend shopping carts? His seventh birthday is exactly one month away, and we already have a pretend store full of pretend food...
Seymour and I are both so pleased and amazed by Leelo's potty training progress, especially since I never let myself believe that a potty trained boy was a guarantee. When Leelo started to poop in the toilet, I thought we would be sitting in the bathroom with him, reading books and trawling YouTube, indefinitely; he hasn't needed that kind of encouragement for weeks. (Supervisor M is really proud of our boy, too; she said this phase of potty training often takes a lot longer with ASD kids.)
Now we tell Leelo when it's time to go to the potty, and he goes. Sometimes I have to sing and skip across the living room and down the hall with him, sometimes he gets mad and hits me first, but sometimes he runs up the stairs on his own and does the deed from start to finish -- including wiping -- himself. Amazing.
Since we still spend a lot of time in the bathroom with him, I must write that it's both amusing and convenient to watch him bend double and crane his neck to watch the poo come out.
Our next goal is to get him to stop with the compulsive flushing. (This is a really bad habit for a boy who lives in dry, dry California.) He has abused the flush handle so thoroughly that the flapper is all tweaked and doesn't always seal the tank, and then we keep losing even more water. (I try not to think of Dune at times like this.) But I think the flush-o-rama will be manageable, eventually.
I am in a good mood. Even though Leelo got excited and peed on a freshly-made bed this afternoon (he was playing "Leelo's hiding" with Therapist L and got over excited), even though one of the kids managed to clog the downstairs toilet and completely flood the bathroom while I was the only adult in a house containing five children, even though my handy-dandy pee-finder light revealed not only the current source of living room stench but an entire spiral galaxy of cat pee spots, even though I am having a really hard time trying to figure out how to get enough sleep, my boy is doing well. That makes me happy.
Before I sign off, two things:
1) Check out this boy who is not Leelo! In looks, they are separated at birth! TRIP!
2) Notes from Leelo's daily record; check out especially the observations on his language emailed to me by friends.
POTTY TRAINING
Said "No cleaning, no cleaning" when we were in the car. We asked him what he wanted to clean, he said, "your bottom." Turned out he needed to poop and wasn't happy about having to hold it--but he did! He made it! Two poops in his pants at school, but I think they misunderstood how his BMs go. Lots of wiping his own bottom, too--not perfectly, but very ably.
LANGUAGE/BEHAVIOR
(From Ep) During party tapped Seymour on the shoulder and said, "Dad! I want juice!"
When I was singing a good night song to him, he got mad and hit me; but then he said, "I want you to sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer!" (out of NOWHERE; we haven't sung that song since Xmas '06). Then he was happy. Also was asking me about another song; if I could have understood what song he was trying to sing it would have been a real conversation. His usual nonsense call-and-response words were real words tonight, all perhaps things he heard on the playground?: "Whoa" "Watch out" "Look out, AH!" "It's okay"
(From Signora Blog) I heard him make appropriate requests about juice, straws and whatever he wanted. He went to Black Dog and asked for more straws ("please") looking him right in the eyes, and then he asked for juice, Black Dog was unsure if it was ok to give him juice (Seymour had mentioned that Leelo already had 4) so he told Leelo that they needed to go and ask "dad." Leelo patiently complied, no hitting, no frustration and went with Black Dog to talk to Seymour).
Yesterday I experienced one of those truly precious, total connection Leelo moments. Though rare, these interludes seem to be on the increase.
Leelo was siting at the kitchen counter, looking like he needed something to do. I handed him a toy and said, "Leelo, this is Dewy."
Leelo grabbed Dewy, gave Dewy a huge smile, gave me another huge smile, looked me right in the eye, and said -- totally naturalistically and like any other happy little boy -- "I *like* Dewy!"
(Does this mean it was a good thing for Mali to ransack the local gaming store so quickly and thoroughly that the owner gave her Dewy in a desperate attempt to distract her?)
Leelo is starting to do a lot of pretend play. I keep seeing him making his Catbus *be* a Catbus, and keep catching him pushing Mali's stroller around the back yard. Maybe we should get him one of those pretend shopping carts? His seventh birthday is exactly one month away, and we already have a pretend store full of pretend food...
Seymour and I are both so pleased and amazed by Leelo's potty training progress, especially since I never let myself believe that a potty trained boy was a guarantee. When Leelo started to poop in the toilet, I thought we would be sitting in the bathroom with him, reading books and trawling YouTube, indefinitely; he hasn't needed that kind of encouragement for weeks. (Supervisor M is really proud of our boy, too; she said this phase of potty training often takes a lot longer with ASD kids.)
Now we tell Leelo when it's time to go to the potty, and he goes. Sometimes I have to sing and skip across the living room and down the hall with him, sometimes he gets mad and hits me first, but sometimes he runs up the stairs on his own and does the deed from start to finish -- including wiping -- himself. Amazing.
Since we still spend a lot of time in the bathroom with him, I must write that it's both amusing and convenient to watch him bend double and crane his neck to watch the poo come out.
Our next goal is to get him to stop with the compulsive flushing. (This is a really bad habit for a boy who lives in dry, dry California.) He has abused the flush handle so thoroughly that the flapper is all tweaked and doesn't always seal the tank, and then we keep losing even more water. (I try not to think of Dune at times like this.) But I think the flush-o-rama will be manageable, eventually.
I am in a good mood. Even though Leelo got excited and peed on a freshly-made bed this afternoon (he was playing "Leelo's hiding" with Therapist L and got over excited), even though one of the kids managed to clog the downstairs toilet and completely flood the bathroom while I was the only adult in a house containing five children, even though my handy-dandy pee-finder light revealed not only the current source of living room stench but an entire spiral galaxy of cat pee spots, even though I am having a really hard time trying to figure out how to get enough sleep, my boy is doing well. That makes me happy.
Before I sign off, two things:
1) Check out this boy who is not Leelo! In looks, they are separated at birth! TRIP!
2) Notes from Leelo's daily record; check out especially the observations on his language emailed to me by friends.
POTTY TRAINING
Said "No cleaning, no cleaning" when we were in the car. We asked him what he wanted to clean, he said, "your bottom." Turned out he needed to poop and wasn't happy about having to hold it--but he did! He made it! Two poops in his pants at school, but I think they misunderstood how his BMs go. Lots of wiping his own bottom, too--not perfectly, but very ably.
LANGUAGE/BEHAVIOR
(From Ep) During party tapped Seymour on the shoulder and said, "Dad! I want juice!"
When I was singing a good night song to him, he got mad and hit me; but then he said, "I want you to sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer!" (out of NOWHERE; we haven't sung that song since Xmas '06). Then he was happy. Also was asking me about another song; if I could have understood what song he was trying to sing it would have been a real conversation. His usual nonsense call-and-response words were real words tonight, all perhaps things he heard on the playground?: "Whoa" "Watch out" "Look out, AH!" "It's okay"
(From Signora Blog) I heard him make appropriate requests about juice, straws and whatever he wanted. He went to Black Dog and asked for more straws ("please") looking him right in the eyes, and then he asked for juice, Black Dog was unsure if it was ok to give him juice (Seymour had mentioned that Leelo already had 4) so he told Leelo that they needed to go and ask "dad." Leelo patiently complied, no hitting, no frustration and went with Black Dog to talk to Seymour).
Technorati Tags: autism, autism blog, autistic, potty training
10.08.2007
I Am Not Jenny McCarthy
I Am Not Jenny McCarthy
(I've received lots of queries on this topic, as all you other autism parents can imagine.)
I am not Jenny McCarthy. For one thing, my boobs are bigger.
Not to discount her hard work in any way, but Ms. McCarthy won the Autism Lottery. She, like Catherine Maurice, Christina Adams, Karyn Seroussi, and Amy Lansky, happened to have a child who quickly responded to treatment and/or ABA Therapy. I am truly happy for Ms. McCarthy and her son, but her experience is not the experience of most autism families.
We pursued the same diet and supplement therapies she did, with the same ferocity, as did (and do) many parents I know. And I would do it all over again, as no one yet knows how to predict which children will respond to what, so trial-and-error is really all we autism parents have. But since Leelo's results haven't been so spectacular, we don't have the kind of story the Instant Fix-loving American public craves. My son's progress has been remarkable, cherished, and celebrated, but it has also been incremental and gradual. I have no miracles to shill. I bitch and blog instead.
To those of you who haven't had Ms. McCarthy's "recovery" luck (about which well-meaning friends and relatives are probably calling daily), I once again recommend Susan Senator's beautiful book Making Peace with Autism. I also send you love, hope, and bottomless empathy.
(I've received lots of queries on this topic, as all you other autism parents can imagine.)
I am not Jenny McCarthy. For one thing, my boobs are bigger.
Not to discount her hard work in any way, but Ms. McCarthy won the Autism Lottery. She, like Catherine Maurice, Christina Adams, Karyn Seroussi, and Amy Lansky, happened to have a child who quickly responded to treatment and/or ABA Therapy. I am truly happy for Ms. McCarthy and her son, but her experience is not the experience of most autism families.
We pursued the same diet and supplement therapies she did, with the same ferocity, as did (and do) many parents I know. And I would do it all over again, as no one yet knows how to predict which children will respond to what, so trial-and-error is really all we autism parents have. But since Leelo's results haven't been so spectacular, we don't have the kind of story the Instant Fix-loving American public craves. My son's progress has been remarkable, cherished, and celebrated, but it has also been incremental and gradual. I have no miracles to shill. I bitch and blog instead.
To those of you who haven't had Ms. McCarthy's "recovery" luck (about which well-meaning friends and relatives are probably calling daily), I once again recommend Susan Senator's beautiful book Making Peace with Autism. I also send you love, hope, and bottomless empathy.
Technorati Tags: autism, autism acceptance, autism awareness, autism blog, autistic, Jenny McCarthy
10.07.2007
Acorn
Acorn
We had acorn pancakes this morning. With valley oak acorns from our yard. The acorns were collected, boiled, leached, and ground by Iz and Seymour. Cooked by Godfather M. Eaten with sweet butter and local deep dark mountain honey. They were absolutely, unbelievably delicious; like chestnut pancakes but sweeter and earthier.
Success with found, free food always helps ease my secret survivalist fears.
We had acorn pancakes this morning. With valley oak acorns from our yard. The acorns were collected, boiled, leached, and ground by Iz and Seymour. Cooked by Godfather M. Eaten with sweet butter and local deep dark mountain honey. They were absolutely, unbelievably delicious; like chestnut pancakes but sweeter and earthier.
Success with found, free food always helps ease my secret survivalist fears.
Technorati Tags: acorn
Can You Hear Me Squee!?
Can You Hear Me Squee!?
One of my favoritist people -- professional comix artist, rabblerouser, and fellow spectrum mom Lea Hernandez -- is not only going to contribute to Can I Sit With You, but she's going to donate the book cover, too! This kind of generosity and ass-kicking in the name of special needs kids who aren't even hers makes me all sniffly with glee.
We have more CISWY writings promised from some of your favorite bloggers, but since they've not publically announced their intentions, I can't yet crow about them. Yet. But keep your eyes peeled.
One of my favoritist people -- professional comix artist, rabblerouser, and fellow spectrum mom Lea Hernandez -- is not only going to contribute to Can I Sit With You, but she's going to donate the book cover, too! This kind of generosity and ass-kicking in the name of special needs kids who aren't even hers makes me all sniffly with glee.
We have more CISWY writings promised from some of your favorite bloggers, but since they've not publically announced their intentions, I can't yet crow about them. Yet. But keep your eyes peeled.
10.06.2007
Three Wishes
Three Wishes
Yesterday I fulfilled a parenting fantasy I'd had since I was eleven years old: Watching Raider of the Lost Ark with my daughter. And Iz loved it! She didn't even mind that I covered her eyes during any mummy/impalement/melting & exploding heads scenes. I am now suffused with the glow of long-held wish fructification.
Raiders was one of my favorite movies, ever. (Which means that I've probably written about it before in this space. I'm not sure; I used to be a very chatty chatty blogger back when this journal held a bigger therapeutic role and I only had two children, so the archives slogging and purging is slow going.) Anyhow. It played at our local theater, the Cineramadome, for 52 weeks. I probably saw it ten times in the theater, two consecutive viewings at a time. All those years later, it still holds up nicely although a bit simplisticallly and nonsensically.
Tomorrow we are going to make another wish come true by going to see Annie Get Your Gun, live, on stage. I only wish my dad was here to go, too; I got my love of musicals from him, and we saw several a year. But we are going with the very knowledgeable and enthusiastic Godfather M (who is newly returned from Greece, where he for some reason did not attempt to photo-recreate any scenes from Asterix at the Olympic Games).
In January a third parenting wish will come true when Iz and I use the power of our passports to travel to a location outside of North America. Can you guess where we're going? All I will say is that the country is in another hemisphere entirely, and that it's a reinstated kingdom. EEEEEEP!
Yesterday I fulfilled a parenting fantasy I'd had since I was eleven years old: Watching Raider of the Lost Ark with my daughter. And Iz loved it! She didn't even mind that I covered her eyes during any mummy/impalement/melting & exploding heads scenes. I am now suffused with the glow of long-held wish fructification.
Raiders was one of my favorite movies, ever. (Which means that I've probably written about it before in this space. I'm not sure; I used to be a very chatty chatty blogger back when this journal held a bigger therapeutic role and I only had two children, so the archives slogging and purging is slow going.) Anyhow. It played at our local theater, the Cineramadome, for 52 weeks. I probably saw it ten times in the theater, two consecutive viewings at a time. All those years later, it still holds up nicely although a bit simplisticallly and nonsensically.
Tomorrow we are going to make another wish come true by going to see Annie Get Your Gun, live, on stage. I only wish my dad was here to go, too; I got my love of musicals from him, and we saw several a year. But we are going with the very knowledgeable and enthusiastic Godfather M (who is newly returned from Greece, where he for some reason did not attempt to photo-recreate any scenes from Asterix at the Olympic Games).
In January a third parenting wish will come true when Iz and I use the power of our passports to travel to a location outside of North America. Can you guess where we're going? All I will say is that the country is in another hemisphere entirely, and that it's a reinstated kingdom. EEEEEEP!
10.04.2007
Fourth Grade
Fourth Grade
Here are our wonderful girls on the first day of school/last Monday of August. Mali is in preschool. Iz is now in fourth grade. And she has let me know that her new status should entitle her to two very important things: a locker shelf, and a training bra. Huh?
Two of her best friends recently went shopping for training bras. They did not invite Iz to go with them, and she is both hurt and jealous. I told her not to worry, that training bras serve no purpose, that the undergarment industry created them as a way to make to make wads of cash off tween girls' desperate fascination with all things pubescent, and that if she is anything like her mom, she won't need a bra for at least five years anyhow. Though she gets the anti-marketing/uselessness argument, she is not impervious to peer pressure, and so is wistful.
Next best thing: I got her a copy of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, which she read four times over the weekend and has since loaned to one of the bra girls. I also got her a copy of It's Perfectly Normal as I approve of its frank, mellow discussion and of puberty, and the friendly drawings that accompany the text (my favorite is the pelvic "X-ray" showing the differing locations of in-use tampons and pads). However, it discusses sex and having sex as well, so Seymour suggested that we read it with her instead of merely handing it to her.
I was hoping all this puberty talk wouldn't happen until later on in the school year-- not because I'm bothered by it, but because it means that Iz is gravitating away from little girlhood. But now that it's starting to come up, it's important that she has access to information and feels comfortable asking questions.
Iz has spent a lot of the first month of fourth grade being grumpy for some other reasons, too, and I don't blame her. Both of her best friends are spending a lot of time with other best friends, not for any malicious reasons but because that's just what happens sometimes. Iz is spending a lot of time by herself during class breaks.
Not that she gets to spend all that much time at lunch or recess, because she keeps forgetting to bring in her homework and so her teacher frequently has her spend both recess and lunch inside. Even though she does need a lot of encouragement to keep herself organized, I think this is draconian. Seymour thinks it is fitting.
Iz also made a political bid: she and her friend Violet ran for School Activities commissioners. They ran their campaign almost completely without parental assistance (I am letting my daughter rely on her own initiative whenever possible), and made all their own posters.
They didn't win, but this didn't stop Iz from getting on student council; she noticed that no one ran for the Green Community position, and so talked her way into being appointed. I hope they don't expect too much of her; she's much more fond of titles and positions than she is of actual responsibilities. I say that lovingly; she is brilliant, but very very scattered. Although not as scattered and out-of-touch as her mom was at the same age. But that's a story for another day.
Here are our wonderful girls on the first day of school/last Monday of August. Mali is in preschool. Iz is now in fourth grade. And she has let me know that her new status should entitle her to two very important things: a locker shelf, and a training bra. Huh?
Two of her best friends recently went shopping for training bras. They did not invite Iz to go with them, and she is both hurt and jealous. I told her not to worry, that training bras serve no purpose, that the undergarment industry created them as a way to make to make wads of cash off tween girls' desperate fascination with all things pubescent, and that if she is anything like her mom, she won't need a bra for at least five years anyhow. Though she gets the anti-marketing/uselessness argument, she is not impervious to peer pressure, and so is wistful.
Next best thing: I got her a copy of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, which she read four times over the weekend and has since loaned to one of the bra girls. I also got her a copy of It's Perfectly Normal as I approve of its frank, mellow discussion and of puberty, and the friendly drawings that accompany the text (my favorite is the pelvic "X-ray" showing the differing locations of in-use tampons and pads). However, it discusses sex and having sex as well, so Seymour suggested that we read it with her instead of merely handing it to her.
I was hoping all this puberty talk wouldn't happen until later on in the school year-- not because I'm bothered by it, but because it means that Iz is gravitating away from little girlhood. But now that it's starting to come up, it's important that she has access to information and feels comfortable asking questions.
Iz has spent a lot of the first month of fourth grade being grumpy for some other reasons, too, and I don't blame her. Both of her best friends are spending a lot of time with other best friends, not for any malicious reasons but because that's just what happens sometimes. Iz is spending a lot of time by herself during class breaks.
Not that she gets to spend all that much time at lunch or recess, because she keeps forgetting to bring in her homework and so her teacher frequently has her spend both recess and lunch inside. Even though she does need a lot of encouragement to keep herself organized, I think this is draconian. Seymour thinks it is fitting.
Iz also made a political bid: she and her friend Violet ran for School Activities commissioners. They ran their campaign almost completely without parental assistance (I am letting my daughter rely on her own initiative whenever possible), and made all their own posters.
They didn't win, but this didn't stop Iz from getting on student council; she noticed that no one ran for the Green Community position, and so talked her way into being appointed. I hope they don't expect too much of her; she's much more fond of titles and positions than she is of actual responsibilities. I say that lovingly; she is brilliant, but very very scattered. Although not as scattered and out-of-touch as her mom was at the same age. But that's a story for another day.
10.03.2007
Squee! And, Ew.
Squee! And, Ew.
(I can never write Squee! without thinking of Lea Hernandez.)
Our Can I Sit With You? project is starting to lure in some fantastic, heart-wrenching submissions. But this also means that you'll want to get your stories in ASAP so that they don't get lost in the submissions shuffle.
Speaking of heart-wrenching, have you see Dove's latest Self Esteem Fund campaign video? I'll be sitting Iz down for this one tonight. (Via Broadsheet.)
(I can never write Squee! without thinking of Lea Hernandez.)
Our Can I Sit With You? project is starting to lure in some fantastic, heart-wrenching submissions. But this also means that you'll want to get your stories in ASAP so that they don't get lost in the submissions shuffle.
Speaking of heart-wrenching, have you see Dove's latest Self Esteem Fund campaign video? I'll be sitting Iz down for this one tonight. (Via Broadsheet.)
10.02.2007
Thump Thump Thump
Thump Thump Thump
I don't think I'll ever get used to Leelo thumping on me. I am amazed by how frequently his blows really hurt, compared to how infrequently they leave marks. Particularly painful are the open-handed whacks to the nose, and the repeated skull-rams to the lower spine. This knowledge makes me wonder how many imperceptibly abused people I encounter every day. Not a cheery thought.
Sometimes, though, Leelo grabs my arms and either gives them a nice long gouge, or a twist/pinch which leaves tiny scabs and scars around the insides of my elbow. The latter technique makes me look like a really inept junkie who doesn't know where her veins are, or like I've gotten used to living in with a really bad flea infestation. Lovely, eh?
Leelo had actually been really mellow for several weeks until yesterday, when he flew at me while we doing our usual waiting in line at the local coffee shop. He took me out with such force and surprise that I burst into tears, grabbed his hand, and fled the place *without my coffee*. Thankfully my dear darling partner showed up at the shop afterwards, heard from the owner that I had left without my drink, picked his jaw up off the ground, and came all the way home to bring me a double latte so that I could face the day properly caffeinated.
Today there was a lot of me yelling that "Hitting Mommy is all done!," but there was also some really concrete evidence that Leelo is getting a cold and probably has a lot of sinus pain. That explains everything. Poor boy. Poor mommy, poor anyone else who lets down their guard around him until he gets better.
----
I forgot to mention that Leelo had his first-ever poop in a school potty yesterday. I forgot to mention that Seymour got Mali to sleep in her own damn bed (even if it is in our room) last night. In fact, I haven't even gotten around to the "new school year routine" entries for this year. Will try to write them out this week.
One final, pleasing thought for the night: Iz has resumed individual sessions with Maestra L, the Spanish tutor who helped her catch up when she entered Esperanza dual immersion school in first grade rather than in kinder like all the other kids. Maestra L says our girl's still got it; that she's retained almost all of her Spanish, and acquires more at light speed. Nice to hear.
But even more pleasing were Maestra L's comments on Leelo. She hadn't seen him for two-and-a-half years; she says the difference in him, in his attentiveness, lack of hyperactivity, and language, is absolutely remarkable. She says he's not even the same boy. What a wonderful way to shake off my recent fears about his progress! And the fact that she could say that on a crappy behavioral day like today. Guess I'll have to go find something else to be depressed about, damn it all.
I don't think I'll ever get used to Leelo thumping on me. I am amazed by how frequently his blows really hurt, compared to how infrequently they leave marks. Particularly painful are the open-handed whacks to the nose, and the repeated skull-rams to the lower spine. This knowledge makes me wonder how many imperceptibly abused people I encounter every day. Not a cheery thought.
Sometimes, though, Leelo grabs my arms and either gives them a nice long gouge, or a twist/pinch which leaves tiny scabs and scars around the insides of my elbow. The latter technique makes me look like a really inept junkie who doesn't know where her veins are, or like I've gotten used to living in with a really bad flea infestation. Lovely, eh?
Leelo had actually been really mellow for several weeks until yesterday, when he flew at me while we doing our usual waiting in line at the local coffee shop. He took me out with such force and surprise that I burst into tears, grabbed his hand, and fled the place *without my coffee*. Thankfully my dear darling partner showed up at the shop afterwards, heard from the owner that I had left without my drink, picked his jaw up off the ground, and came all the way home to bring me a double latte so that I could face the day properly caffeinated.
Today there was a lot of me yelling that "Hitting Mommy is all done!," but there was also some really concrete evidence that Leelo is getting a cold and probably has a lot of sinus pain. That explains everything. Poor boy. Poor mommy, poor anyone else who lets down their guard around him until he gets better.
----
I forgot to mention that Leelo had his first-ever poop in a school potty yesterday. I forgot to mention that Seymour got Mali to sleep in her own damn bed (even if it is in our room) last night. In fact, I haven't even gotten around to the "new school year routine" entries for this year. Will try to write them out this week.
One final, pleasing thought for the night: Iz has resumed individual sessions with Maestra L, the Spanish tutor who helped her catch up when she entered Esperanza dual immersion school in first grade rather than in kinder like all the other kids. Maestra L says our girl's still got it; that she's retained almost all of her Spanish, and acquires more at light speed. Nice to hear.
But even more pleasing were Maestra L's comments on Leelo. She hadn't seen him for two-and-a-half years; she says the difference in him, in his attentiveness, lack of hyperactivity, and language, is absolutely remarkable. She says he's not even the same boy. What a wonderful way to shake off my recent fears about his progress! And the fact that she could say that on a crappy behavioral day like today. Guess I'll have to go find something else to be depressed about, damn it all.
Technorati Tags: autism, autism blog, autistic
Smooshy
Smooshy
If you're from Seattle, the first part of this post will be met with a big "Well, DUH," so feel free to skip ahead.
For the rest of you -- especially those of you parent or care for children susceptible to the toxic syrup-and-air musical stylings of Hannah M0ntana and her ilk -- may I suggest to you what Seymour suggested to me, which is to introduce the group Smoosh to your household.
The youngest Smoosh sister was barely older than Iz when they released their first album; two years later the oldest sister is still too young for her learner's permit. Very inspiring to Iz, and thankfully it's the kind of music her parents like, too. Iz particularly likes "Rad" from the first album, She Like Electric.
----
I am going through this blog's archives just to make sure I never said anything nasty about my family, just in case they find this site via the links in the CISWY blogroll (and so far, I totally didn't say one mean thing! I swear!).
One of the things I've found, besides somewhat distressing possible evidence that Leelo did in fact make a lot of progress on the GFCF diet and/or that his language hasn't changed a ton in four years, is this still true rant on why I get fed up with food/body issues here in the United States. The ranty rant part is at the post's end.
If you're from Seattle, the first part of this post will be met with a big "Well, DUH," so feel free to skip ahead.
For the rest of you -- especially those of you parent or care for children susceptible to the toxic syrup-and-air musical stylings of Hannah M0ntana and her ilk -- may I suggest to you what Seymour suggested to me, which is to introduce the group Smoosh to your household.
The youngest Smoosh sister was barely older than Iz when they released their first album; two years later the oldest sister is still too young for her learner's permit. Very inspiring to Iz, and thankfully it's the kind of music her parents like, too. Iz particularly likes "Rad" from the first album, She Like Electric.
----
I am going through this blog's archives just to make sure I never said anything nasty about my family, just in case they find this site via the links in the CISWY blogroll (and so far, I totally didn't say one mean thing! I swear!).
One of the things I've found, besides somewhat distressing possible evidence that Leelo did in fact make a lot of progress on the GFCF diet and/or that his language hasn't changed a ton in four years, is this still true rant on why I get fed up with food/body issues here in the United States. The ranty rant part is at the post's end.
Technorati Tags: autism, autism blog, autistic
10.01.2007
Can I Sit With You: Launch Time!
Can I Sit With You: Launch Time!
We published our first Can I Sit With You essay today. It's called Bitch, and is a prime example of the WTF schoolyard social scene. Go! Now! And tell all your friends!
We published our first Can I Sit With You essay today. It's called Bitch, and is a prime example of the WTF schoolyard social scene. Go! Now! And tell all your friends!
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