I've migrated this blog to wordpress and changed the name to reflect more broadly what the blog will be about. Find me here!
http://onthebeans.wordpress.com/
Monday, August 1, 2011
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
To my picky, picky, tactile hypersensitive children
Look, I know you are sensitive about how your clothes feel. I get it. I really do. I don't like pants that are too tight or shirts that are too loose. I am not a huge fan of socks, but I wear them in the winter. I don't like when my sleeves bunch in my sweater or jacket either. It makes me feel pretty crazy when my clothes don't feel right. I really get it.
However, you have no idea how lucky you are. When I was a kid, we did not have amazingly soft pima cotton tagless t-shirts. We did not have stretchy soft yoga pants with flat ribbed waistbands. We did not have thin lycra cotton seamless socks. We did not have stretchy soft (and tagless) boy shorts underwear (or knit boxers). We did not have crocs or 5,000 other comfortable and wide shoe choices.
When I was a kid, we wore jeans that could stand up on their own when we bought them. We wore underwear with tight elastic that dug into our legs. Nothing had spandex or lycra or knit waistbands. Everything had scratchy seams. We wore polyester, and not the plushy microfleece your hoodies are made of, either. Everything had big scratchy tags. The socks were bulky and bumpy. We wore shoes that gave you blisters just to look at them.
So suck it up, offspring. Put on those loose knit pants and tagless t-shirts and microfleece hoodies and SUCK. IT. UP.
That is all.
However, you have no idea how lucky you are. When I was a kid, we did not have amazingly soft pima cotton tagless t-shirts. We did not have stretchy soft yoga pants with flat ribbed waistbands. We did not have thin lycra cotton seamless socks. We did not have stretchy soft (and tagless) boy shorts underwear (or knit boxers). We did not have crocs or 5,000 other comfortable and wide shoe choices.
When I was a kid, we wore jeans that could stand up on their own when we bought them. We wore underwear with tight elastic that dug into our legs. Nothing had spandex or lycra or knit waistbands. Everything had scratchy seams. We wore polyester, and not the plushy microfleece your hoodies are made of, either. Everything had big scratchy tags. The socks were bulky and bumpy. We wore shoes that gave you blisters just to look at them.
So suck it up, offspring. Put on those loose knit pants and tagless t-shirts and microfleece hoodies and SUCK. IT. UP.
That is all.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Apparently it pays to hire an expert
I recently commented to a friend that we have our own "c" word in our house. The "c" word is "crumbs."
The boychild's particular side of the autism spectrum tends towards the OCD/anxiety, and about a year ago, just after we moved into this house, he developed this weird phobia/obsession/ritual about crumbs. He is really picky about food in the first place--there are certain types of food that he won't touch, or even be near. He has never liked crackers or pretzels or popcorn or anything that needs to be eaten with a spoon--no yogurt, cereal, soup, ice cream, pudding, etc. He doesn't like the texture and he won't touch a spoon. But the main problem is crumbs of these foods he doesn't like--cheerios, goldfish crackers, and especially the dreaded popcorn (incidentally, or maybe not, these are his sister's favorite foods).
It has gotten progressively worse over the last year, to the point where he was being bullied at school by a kid who intentionally sprinkled crumbs near him. When he sees these crumbs he shrieks and runs away, or if he can't run away, just screams at the top of his lungs. Sometimes, in his calmer moments, he orders me to move the crumb or goldfish fragment, pointing at it from across the room like it's a dead animal. (Sometimes I cannot see this particle and, since he can't walk over and show me, this results in some mutual screaming about the invisible crumb).
He is especially bothered by crumbs on people's faces, especially his sister's. She eats like a four-year old, so she gets crumbs everywhere. (Also, she enjoys goading her brother.) Mealtimes have been hellish this summer, as he watches us like a hawk as we eat, ready to scream at us to wipe our faces before we even take a bite. He won't eat at a restaurant because he can't control who ate at the table before him, and doesn't know what they ate there. He won't sit at a picnic table or a table at someone's house. He will eat in the car, but that means his sister also gets to eat in the car, and you can imagine how that goes.
While this crumb paranoia is making our lives exceptionally difficult lately, it's also quite funny. Honestly, I have to hide my face because I'm laughing at him. It's just so ridiculous. I feel terrible for laughing because this is really affecting his life too. He spends so much time worrying about crumbs, and there are so many things he can't enjoy because of the possibility of crumbs.
The crumb issue has totally stumped me. In addition to my humanities Ph.D., I've also gotten a Ph.D. in autism over the last eight years, and I can say with all modesty that I'm pretty good at managing and accommodating his needs. I've been extremely creative in finding ways to work around his issues. It's painful, but I can "sell" him on most of the things he needs to do. But I can't get around the crumbs. It's so irrational--there's no role playing or social stories or reasoning him out of it. Crumbs are just "wrong." They offend the order of his universe and there is no getting around that. At meals, I resorted to pulling a paper towel screen across the table so he can't see his sister. I've been vacuuming frequently and, frankly, doing a lot of yelling.
We have been on the waiting list for a behavioral therapy clinic for about five months, and I had about given up on them when I got a call in July that he was in! He has a fresh, energetic doctoral student whom I shall call Marty. At our first meeting Marty asked me what I was most concerned with, and what I would like to tackle first. I said, simply, "crumbs."
Marty has risen to the challenge. He and his supervisor have come up with a genius plan. I mean seriously genius. Marty has introduced the boychild to Crumb Head, an evil villain who tries to defeat the boychild with crumbs. Crumb Head's power increases when boychild hides from crumbs, or yells. Crumb Head gets bigger. However, all is not lost. Boychild has the power to defeat Crumb Head! He can shoot blue energy at Crumb Head to make him tiny and run away. And here's the genius: in order to generate blue energy, boychild has to LOOK at the crumbs. He "charges up" his blue energy by looking at the crumbs, and then he can shoot the blue energy at Crumb Head. The more he can look at crumbs and the longer he can be near them, the less power the phobia will have over him.
Boychild and his sister are really into Word Girl (PBS kids show) this summer, and there are lots of silly supervillains on the show, e.g. "Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy." Crumb Head fits right into this universe. Boychild is really into Crumb Head. (He's now "Captain Crumb Head".) Yesterday we practiced Crumb Head at home for the first time (with Sun Chips) and he did so well, even though his sister was trying to "help" by blowing the crumbs around.
I can finally see a way through. Thanks, Marty! You rock. It's going to be a while before he can handle watching his sister eat goldfish in the car, but hopefully he will be able to use Crumb Head to eat at the snack table at school, and be able to take control of this fear. Sometimes it really does pay to hire an expert.
The boychild's particular side of the autism spectrum tends towards the OCD/anxiety, and about a year ago, just after we moved into this house, he developed this weird phobia/obsession/ritual about crumbs. He is really picky about food in the first place--there are certain types of food that he won't touch, or even be near. He has never liked crackers or pretzels or popcorn or anything that needs to be eaten with a spoon--no yogurt, cereal, soup, ice cream, pudding, etc. He doesn't like the texture and he won't touch a spoon. But the main problem is crumbs of these foods he doesn't like--cheerios, goldfish crackers, and especially the dreaded popcorn (incidentally, or maybe not, these are his sister's favorite foods).
It has gotten progressively worse over the last year, to the point where he was being bullied at school by a kid who intentionally sprinkled crumbs near him. When he sees these crumbs he shrieks and runs away, or if he can't run away, just screams at the top of his lungs. Sometimes, in his calmer moments, he orders me to move the crumb or goldfish fragment, pointing at it from across the room like it's a dead animal. (Sometimes I cannot see this particle and, since he can't walk over and show me, this results in some mutual screaming about the invisible crumb).
He is especially bothered by crumbs on people's faces, especially his sister's. She eats like a four-year old, so she gets crumbs everywhere. (Also, she enjoys goading her brother.) Mealtimes have been hellish this summer, as he watches us like a hawk as we eat, ready to scream at us to wipe our faces before we even take a bite. He won't eat at a restaurant because he can't control who ate at the table before him, and doesn't know what they ate there. He won't sit at a picnic table or a table at someone's house. He will eat in the car, but that means his sister also gets to eat in the car, and you can imagine how that goes.
While this crumb paranoia is making our lives exceptionally difficult lately, it's also quite funny. Honestly, I have to hide my face because I'm laughing at him. It's just so ridiculous. I feel terrible for laughing because this is really affecting his life too. He spends so much time worrying about crumbs, and there are so many things he can't enjoy because of the possibility of crumbs.
The crumb issue has totally stumped me. In addition to my humanities Ph.D., I've also gotten a Ph.D. in autism over the last eight years, and I can say with all modesty that I'm pretty good at managing and accommodating his needs. I've been extremely creative in finding ways to work around his issues. It's painful, but I can "sell" him on most of the things he needs to do. But I can't get around the crumbs. It's so irrational--there's no role playing or social stories or reasoning him out of it. Crumbs are just "wrong." They offend the order of his universe and there is no getting around that. At meals, I resorted to pulling a paper towel screen across the table so he can't see his sister. I've been vacuuming frequently and, frankly, doing a lot of yelling.
We have been on the waiting list for a behavioral therapy clinic for about five months, and I had about given up on them when I got a call in July that he was in! He has a fresh, energetic doctoral student whom I shall call Marty. At our first meeting Marty asked me what I was most concerned with, and what I would like to tackle first. I said, simply, "crumbs."
Marty has risen to the challenge. He and his supervisor have come up with a genius plan. I mean seriously genius. Marty has introduced the boychild to Crumb Head, an evil villain who tries to defeat the boychild with crumbs. Crumb Head's power increases when boychild hides from crumbs, or yells. Crumb Head gets bigger. However, all is not lost. Boychild has the power to defeat Crumb Head! He can shoot blue energy at Crumb Head to make him tiny and run away. And here's the genius: in order to generate blue energy, boychild has to LOOK at the crumbs. He "charges up" his blue energy by looking at the crumbs, and then he can shoot the blue energy at Crumb Head. The more he can look at crumbs and the longer he can be near them, the less power the phobia will have over him.
Boychild and his sister are really into Word Girl (PBS kids show) this summer, and there are lots of silly supervillains on the show, e.g. "Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy." Crumb Head fits right into this universe. Boychild is really into Crumb Head. (He's now "Captain Crumb Head".) Yesterday we practiced Crumb Head at home for the first time (with Sun Chips) and he did so well, even though his sister was trying to "help" by blowing the crumbs around.
I can finally see a way through. Thanks, Marty! You rock. It's going to be a while before he can handle watching his sister eat goldfish in the car, but hopefully he will be able to use Crumb Head to eat at the snack table at school, and be able to take control of this fear. Sometimes it really does pay to hire an expert.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Fear and loathing on the playground
OK, so every time I come to post something to this blog I end up futzing with the template and layout, get distracted or interrupted, and poof, post ideas are gone. I think I like these washing machines though. For now. They look like they mean business.
I realized today that the park playground is my fishbowl observation tank for the boychild's social skills. I don't get to see him interact with a lot of kids since I don't hang out with him at school, and so I only really see him around the girlchild's friends, who are all younger, and the occasional friend from his class who comes over. Sometimes I forget that he struggles so much socially. The park reminds me of how much he stands out. This afternoon we tested out a brand new playground that was just built this summer and expectations were running high. The boychild launched himself immediately onto the tube slide, which in itself is amazing to watch, considering he was terrified of playground equipment until he was almost six (he still gets randomly terrified and stuck in high places). There was a small group of what appeared to be five to six year old boys who were trading Bakugan paraphernalia in the little kid play structure. Boychild ran over and started talking to them. And by talking, I mean shouting as loud as a seven year old can shout, with excited hoots in between descriptions of his favorite cars. In his way, he was really just making conversation. He told them he has one Bakugan (given to him; he cares not for such things) which they found unimpressive. They told him they like race cars. He said he likes "regular" cars. (His current obsession--he has the Consumer Reports buyer's guide memorized. Let me know if you are in the market. He has recommendations.) They were again unimpressed. He kept bouncing around trying to get them to play with him. They said, "why don't you just go away?" which he either did not hear or did not heed. I finally went over and suggested he play on the other playground until they were done. I generally try to leave him alone to find his own way. I can't stand parents who micromanage their older children on the playground, even more than those who ignore their kids' rock throwing and name calling, but I remembered the last time I avoided intervening in a similar situation and the kids (older, that time) threatened to beat him up. But by this time he had decided that this particular play structure held an integral role in the highly structured car game going on in his head, and got very upset when I suggested he move.
At this point, they gave him *that look*. If you have a kid like this, you know the look. It comes from adults too, but it has a special flavor when it comes from kindergarteners. It was the look of fear and loathing. In adults, it's a mixture of fear/pity, as Nietzsche links fear of humanity with pity for humanity (I'm trying to recover from academia, I really am), the adults both pity and fear us. In the case of kindergarteners, it's mostly loathing. I admit, I give him that look sometimes, mostly when he screams at me to wipe my mouth before I even take a bite. But from five-year olds, this look tears me up. One one hand I want to kick their little punk asses (they proceeded to throw their traded Bakugans at each other in sight of their mothers), but on the other, he is weird and annoying and they know it. I know it. If I didn't love him, I wouldn't want to play with him either. On the playground he commands the attention of three-year olds. They love to chase him around. But the six to ten year old crowd wants nothing to do with him. I can't blame them.
We spent quite some time practicing pumping on the swings while his four year old sister flew back and forth past him. He can't quite get it. He's really delayed in some particular gross motor skills, and has a difficult time, as he puts it, "making my brain do more than one thing at a time." He is pretty smart for a weirdo. But so many of his peers are doing just that--flying right past him. That's what *I* fear.
I realized today that the park playground is my fishbowl observation tank for the boychild's social skills. I don't get to see him interact with a lot of kids since I don't hang out with him at school, and so I only really see him around the girlchild's friends, who are all younger, and the occasional friend from his class who comes over. Sometimes I forget that he struggles so much socially. The park reminds me of how much he stands out. This afternoon we tested out a brand new playground that was just built this summer and expectations were running high. The boychild launched himself immediately onto the tube slide, which in itself is amazing to watch, considering he was terrified of playground equipment until he was almost six (he still gets randomly terrified and stuck in high places). There was a small group of what appeared to be five to six year old boys who were trading Bakugan paraphernalia in the little kid play structure. Boychild ran over and started talking to them. And by talking, I mean shouting as loud as a seven year old can shout, with excited hoots in between descriptions of his favorite cars. In his way, he was really just making conversation. He told them he has one Bakugan (given to him; he cares not for such things) which they found unimpressive. They told him they like race cars. He said he likes "regular" cars. (His current obsession--he has the Consumer Reports buyer's guide memorized. Let me know if you are in the market. He has recommendations.) They were again unimpressed. He kept bouncing around trying to get them to play with him. They said, "why don't you just go away?" which he either did not hear or did not heed. I finally went over and suggested he play on the other playground until they were done. I generally try to leave him alone to find his own way. I can't stand parents who micromanage their older children on the playground, even more than those who ignore their kids' rock throwing and name calling, but I remembered the last time I avoided intervening in a similar situation and the kids (older, that time) threatened to beat him up. But by this time he had decided that this particular play structure held an integral role in the highly structured car game going on in his head, and got very upset when I suggested he move.
At this point, they gave him *that look*. If you have a kid like this, you know the look. It comes from adults too, but it has a special flavor when it comes from kindergarteners. It was the look of fear and loathing. In adults, it's a mixture of fear/pity, as Nietzsche links fear of humanity with pity for humanity (I'm trying to recover from academia, I really am), the adults both pity and fear us. In the case of kindergarteners, it's mostly loathing. I admit, I give him that look sometimes, mostly when he screams at me to wipe my mouth before I even take a bite. But from five-year olds, this look tears me up. One one hand I want to kick their little punk asses (they proceeded to throw their traded Bakugans at each other in sight of their mothers), but on the other, he is weird and annoying and they know it. I know it. If I didn't love him, I wouldn't want to play with him either. On the playground he commands the attention of three-year olds. They love to chase him around. But the six to ten year old crowd wants nothing to do with him. I can't blame them.
We spent quite some time practicing pumping on the swings while his four year old sister flew back and forth past him. He can't quite get it. He's really delayed in some particular gross motor skills, and has a difficult time, as he puts it, "making my brain do more than one thing at a time." He is pretty smart for a weirdo. But so many of his peers are doing just that--flying right past him. That's what *I* fear.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Me on NPR!
Long time no post. I'm a terrible blogger. For those interested, I can be heard reading a selection from my essay in My Baby Rides the Short Bus on frickin' NPR, people.
It was recorded at the Lucy Parsons bookstore in Boston in April and aired on WBUR Boston's Morning Edition the next morning, and later aired on Here and Now. Here is the link. Warning: get some kleenex ready.
http://www.hereandnow.org/2010/05/rundown-512/
Also, last month I. graduated to 9-month cardiologist checkups. Longest space ever! And he is off aspirin therapy!
It was recorded at the Lucy Parsons bookstore in Boston in April and aired on WBUR Boston's Morning Edition the next morning, and later aired on Here and Now. Here is the link. Warning: get some kleenex ready.
http://www.hereandnow.org/2010/05/rundown-512/
Also, last month I. graduated to 9-month cardiologist checkups. Longest space ever! And he is off aspirin therapy!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
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