My, it's been awhile, hasn't it? Does it help that I have an excuse or two -- or 10 --for not posting anything lately?
If you're one of Elijah's grandparents, who at last count accounted for approximately 80 percent of the readers of this blog, I'm guessing the answer is no.
But I'll try anyway: School has started (five dropoffs and pickups a week), I'm in physical therapy for a knee injury (two therapy visits a week), Elijah is seeing both a speech therapist and an occupational therapist (two therapy visits a week), and I'm temporarily working full time again (five round-trip commutes to downtown each week, arriving back home at 12:30 a.m.).
Technically, there are also bills to be paid and rooms to be cleaned and laundry and yard work and grocery shopping to be done, though as you might imagine, I'm not quite keeping up with it alone. (Thank you, Jeff, for being a fantastic dad and husband and mower of lawns and washer of clothes and grocery shopper!)
On top of it all, there are various houseguests on the way in the next few weeks. You all know who you are; please forgive us in advance for the state of the house. We actually do look forward to having you here, but you can't say you weren't warned.
(An aside: How do households with two full-time workers and more than one child manage to maintain their sanity? I simply couldn't do it!)
Kindergarten seems to be going reasonably well for Elijah. It's too early for parent-teacher conferences, although we have already had back-to-school night and parent information night and some other night whose purpose I can't even remember. Many other such nights are scheduled throughout the year -- book fair, curriculum night, and on and on, making me wonder how I made it through 12 years of public schools with nothing more than the occasional "open house." (Just fine, actually.)
So far, kindergarten has held no surprises -- Elijah's still ahead of the curve on academic stuff and behind on everything else.
That's why he's in occupational therapy, which focuses on getting him to follow instructions, work as part of a group and pay close attention to the behaviors, moods and words of others. We're hoping it will help close the gap between Elijah and typical kindergartners.
That gap is sometimes literal. When lining up to go somewhere, which appears to constitute a fairly big portion of a kindergartner's day, Elijah is always the one wandering off, or slowing down as the line makes its way down the hall -- to the point that children behind him are pushing him and begging him to get moving along. He doesn't seem to have much interest in moving along, preferring to wait until a teacher or aide takes him by the hand and speeds him up. I've always found it perfectly acceptable to pull him around from place to place, but of course the teachers at school have better things to do -- this ain't preschool!
And that's the shocker for him. After four years of preschool, he's become rather accustomed to being in a sheltered environment. Those classes consisted of a few kids with "special needs," like Elijah, and a few "peer models," who were chosen on the basis of personality traits tending toward the calm and quiet. And several adults were in each classroom.
But now he's in the rough-and-tumble of a mainstream kindergarten, where the girls talk nonstop and the boys roughhouse nonstop. Being not much of a talker and not much of a roughhouser, Elijah is a bit taken aback by it all, but he's doing well (with the help of an extra adult in the classroom) and seems to like it just fine. His skill with academic tasks when compared with the other kids gives him a bit of confidence, which helps. (He's been writing complete sentences for several years now, so this week's homework -- a worksheet on the letter "C" -- is not exactly a challenge.)
I don't really have time for much more of an update, but I'll try to sit down in the next week or so and share the (surprising) tale of what appears to be Elijah's favorite class.
Hint: His favorite color is now "rouge."
Au revoir ......
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Does Best Western need a spokes-child?
Heaven knows I have tried.
I have tried to nurture a love of the outdoors in my son. I have tried to pique his interest in nature and in the many ways it manifests itself here in our neck of the (suburban) woods. I take him out on the porch to watch thunderstorms. I take him sledding down snow-covered hills. I point out the first blooms of spring, the hum of cicadas in the summer and the vibrant colors of autumn. We've gone on nature walks and hayrides. We've been river rafting and cave-exploring. We've caught fireflies. We've petted dogs.
He's not buying any of it.
Like so many others of his generation, Elijah would much rather be inside, watching a video or playing on the computer. Driving out into the wilderness with him, you can almost feel the sense of alarm rising from the back seat as his voice grows increasingly concerned: "Where's all the cars? Where's McDonald's?" And, if you should have reason to turn onto a dirt road ..... "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STREET?!!!!"
For a long time, I blamed this on his genetic contribution from Jeff, who has to be bribed at length to even sit out on the back patio with me on a beautiful summer evening. Needless to say, dirt roads are not part of Jeff's life experience (no, honey, dust does not ruin the engine).
But to be fair, I'm not exactly an outdoors person either, unless "outdoors person" is defined as someone who likes to open the windows on a nice day. Roughing it, to me, means sleeping on sheets with a thread count of less than 500. Pioneer woman, I am not.
But I do have something of a pioneer background, at least compared with most of my friends, neighbors and co-workers. I actually grew up in a remote small town, which happens to be nestled in the hill country of the Ozarks. That's where I drag Jeff and Elijah once a year, to experience the woods and the rivers and the springs and the caves. A couple of the new photos over there on the right were taken at our last journey into the woods, when we hiked a short trail to reach a beautiful spring that feeds the river we rafted on last summer.
It has been about three weeks since we returned from that trip, which involved not only playing in the river and hiking the trail, but also visiting family and walking around the town where I grew up.
So what does Elijah most remember and love about this trip?
The hotel, of course. A run-of-the-mill chain -- Best Western. Clean enough and relatively new, it's a perfectly acceptable hotel, but THIS IS NOT WHY WE DROVE A 500-MILE ROUND TRIP. Elijah would be stunned to hear me say that, but he doesn't read this blog, so I guess he'll just cling to the notion that the whole reason we go down to West Plains, Missouri, is so he can jump back and forth between the beds in the hotel room.
It's really hard to describe how much he loves doing this. For MONTHS after every trip, he begs to go back. The begging reaches a fever pitch anytime things are not going his way. When I sent him to "time out" for misbehaving the other day, he chose to use that time sobbing, over and over: "Want to go to the hotel in West Plains." (hiccup, sob, sniff...) "Want to go to" (dramatic wail) "BEST WESTERRRRRRN!!!!"
So, to my family: Sorry. We tried. We tried to get your one and only grandchild interested in visiting you and enjoying the beautiful wilderness areas you have. But next summer, I think we will limit our outdoors adventures to Jeff and Elijah's comfort zone of suburban golf courses and swimming pools. (Our city actually has a beautiful municipal swimming pool, which consists of three pools, slides, a "sprayground" of fountains, lots of grass and trees and flowerbeds, wooden sundecks, etc. Relaxing in a lounge chair there, you could almost fool yourself into believing you were on vacation at a tropical resort, except for the regrettable lack of a thatched-roof hut selling frilly umbrella drinks.)
And to Jeff's family: California, here we come! We'll be there in a couple of months, and Elijah will be thrilled at the vista of cars and McDonald's as far as the eye can see. Nothing will happen to the street -- Ventura Boulevard is his favorite, and I don't recall it turning into a dirt road at any point. But if you want him to really get excited about seeing you, you'll need to do just one little thing:
Please build a Best Western in your back yard.
I have tried to nurture a love of the outdoors in my son. I have tried to pique his interest in nature and in the many ways it manifests itself here in our neck of the (suburban) woods. I take him out on the porch to watch thunderstorms. I take him sledding down snow-covered hills. I point out the first blooms of spring, the hum of cicadas in the summer and the vibrant colors of autumn. We've gone on nature walks and hayrides. We've been river rafting and cave-exploring. We've caught fireflies. We've petted dogs.
He's not buying any of it.
Like so many others of his generation, Elijah would much rather be inside, watching a video or playing on the computer. Driving out into the wilderness with him, you can almost feel the sense of alarm rising from the back seat as his voice grows increasingly concerned: "Where's all the cars? Where's McDonald's?" And, if you should have reason to turn onto a dirt road ..... "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STREET?!!!!"
For a long time, I blamed this on his genetic contribution from Jeff, who has to be bribed at length to even sit out on the back patio with me on a beautiful summer evening. Needless to say, dirt roads are not part of Jeff's life experience (no, honey, dust does not ruin the engine).
But to be fair, I'm not exactly an outdoors person either, unless "outdoors person" is defined as someone who likes to open the windows on a nice day. Roughing it, to me, means sleeping on sheets with a thread count of less than 500. Pioneer woman, I am not.
But I do have something of a pioneer background, at least compared with most of my friends, neighbors and co-workers. I actually grew up in a remote small town, which happens to be nestled in the hill country of the Ozarks. That's where I drag Jeff and Elijah once a year, to experience the woods and the rivers and the springs and the caves. A couple of the new photos over there on the right were taken at our last journey into the woods, when we hiked a short trail to reach a beautiful spring that feeds the river we rafted on last summer.
It has been about three weeks since we returned from that trip, which involved not only playing in the river and hiking the trail, but also visiting family and walking around the town where I grew up.
So what does Elijah most remember and love about this trip?
The hotel, of course. A run-of-the-mill chain -- Best Western. Clean enough and relatively new, it's a perfectly acceptable hotel, but THIS IS NOT WHY WE DROVE A 500-MILE ROUND TRIP. Elijah would be stunned to hear me say that, but he doesn't read this blog, so I guess he'll just cling to the notion that the whole reason we go down to West Plains, Missouri, is so he can jump back and forth between the beds in the hotel room.
It's really hard to describe how much he loves doing this. For MONTHS after every trip, he begs to go back. The begging reaches a fever pitch anytime things are not going his way. When I sent him to "time out" for misbehaving the other day, he chose to use that time sobbing, over and over: "Want to go to the hotel in West Plains." (hiccup, sob, sniff...) "Want to go to" (dramatic wail) "BEST WESTERRRRRRN!!!!"
So, to my family: Sorry. We tried. We tried to get your one and only grandchild interested in visiting you and enjoying the beautiful wilderness areas you have. But next summer, I think we will limit our outdoors adventures to Jeff and Elijah's comfort zone of suburban golf courses and swimming pools. (Our city actually has a beautiful municipal swimming pool, which consists of three pools, slides, a "sprayground" of fountains, lots of grass and trees and flowerbeds, wooden sundecks, etc. Relaxing in a lounge chair there, you could almost fool yourself into believing you were on vacation at a tropical resort, except for the regrettable lack of a thatched-roof hut selling frilly umbrella drinks.)
And to Jeff's family: California, here we come! We'll be there in a couple of months, and Elijah will be thrilled at the vista of cars and McDonald's as far as the eye can see. Nothing will happen to the street -- Ventura Boulevard is his favorite, and I don't recall it turning into a dirt road at any point. But if you want him to really get excited about seeing you, you'll need to do just one little thing:
Please build a Best Western in your back yard.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
I know Tom Hanks looks different with long hair....but not this much!
Last month our cable company had one of those specials that run every few months, though I guess their frequency wouldn't make them so special. For the month of July we would receive two extra premium movie channels for free with the hope we would become so enamored that we would have to sign (pay) up once our trial period ran out. Fifty opportunities to see Lara Croft Tomb Raider is probably forty-nine too many, so I wasn't about to increase my cable bill just yet, however I did take advantage of the offer by DVRing a variety of movies I have missed, including a couple of recent Oscar winners.
Being the caring husband that I am, I saw there was going to be a showing on late one night of a film that Sarah had not seen, but had been fascinated by the story, if not the writing. The DaVinci Code was going to be on at 1:00 a.m. so I decided to tape it for her. It wasn't until the next morning that I discovered that the film I recorded was not the Ron Howard directed version, but was in fact called the DaVinci Coed, a soft-core porn movie which I doubt followed the book too closely. The reason I don't know the storyline is that the opening scene in this "classic" involved two girls and what appeared to be a sultan in a hot tub that was suppose to be in a palace in Europe but sure looked like a backyard in the San Fernando Valley. This threesome was interrupted by another woman, upset that the sultan would not give her his "powerful ring" (Wasn't this the plot line of the Beatles film "Help".) and thus murdered all three by electrocuting them with a toaster tossed into the hot tub, cord and all.
Now forgetting for a moment the absurdity of a unplugged toaster being tossed into water and thus shocking these people to death, the special effects of lightning bolts shooting through the water to show this mayhem were "Plan Nine from Outer Space" variety. Now I am not adverse to watching a sexy movie, but even a fantasy has to have some basis in reality and even I couldn't get by an electrocution by an unplugged appliance. I immediately deleted the film and now it has, in Sarah's mind, become an urban legend of smut.
But I haven't soured on recording movies that seem interesting to me. As an example I was unaware of a Dirty Harry sequel playing tonight that I must have missed when it came out. No, I'm not talking about Sudden Impact or Magnum Force, both of which I've seen. Has anyone heard of Dirty Harriet? Oh well, I'll give you my review later.
Being the caring husband that I am, I saw there was going to be a showing on late one night of a film that Sarah had not seen, but had been fascinated by the story, if not the writing. The DaVinci Code was going to be on at 1:00 a.m. so I decided to tape it for her. It wasn't until the next morning that I discovered that the film I recorded was not the Ron Howard directed version, but was in fact called the DaVinci Coed, a soft-core porn movie which I doubt followed the book too closely. The reason I don't know the storyline is that the opening scene in this "classic" involved two girls and what appeared to be a sultan in a hot tub that was suppose to be in a palace in Europe but sure looked like a backyard in the San Fernando Valley. This threesome was interrupted by another woman, upset that the sultan would not give her his "powerful ring" (Wasn't this the plot line of the Beatles film "Help".) and thus murdered all three by electrocuting them with a toaster tossed into the hot tub, cord and all.
Now forgetting for a moment the absurdity of a unplugged toaster being tossed into water and thus shocking these people to death, the special effects of lightning bolts shooting through the water to show this mayhem were "Plan Nine from Outer Space" variety. Now I am not adverse to watching a sexy movie, but even a fantasy has to have some basis in reality and even I couldn't get by an electrocution by an unplugged appliance. I immediately deleted the film and now it has, in Sarah's mind, become an urban legend of smut.
But I haven't soured on recording movies that seem interesting to me. As an example I was unaware of a Dirty Harry sequel playing tonight that I must have missed when it came out. No, I'm not talking about Sudden Impact or Magnum Force, both of which I've seen. Has anyone heard of Dirty Harriet? Oh well, I'll give you my review later.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Less stuff, more substance
I've always preferred to spend money on experiences rather than things. That's why, even though we've never found the funds to replace our 1979 Formica countertops or the lovely "harvest gold" range top of the same era, we shell out thousands of dollars on vacations whenever we possibly can. It's why I'm willing to spend three times as much on a nice dinner out than I would ever spend on, say, a sweater or a pair of shoes. And it's why, on a night I'm not needed at work, I'll forgo the pay to spend time with Jeff and Elijah instead.
I think about this often as I stand in our basement playroom, surveying the enormous pile of games and toys that Elijah has accumulated over his six years on the planet. Like any typical American kid, he has way more than he needs. But unlike typical kids, he never really has gotten excited about much of it. Part of that is related to his autism -- he's totally "out of the loop" when it comes to kid culture, and he has no idea what the hot toys are -- or even that there ARE hot toys. Not once has he ever requested a gift of any type, for Christmas or Hanukkah or his birthday (unless you count his lifelong obsession with basketball goals, which he now wants about 20 of). Not once has he begged for something he's seen advertised on TV. Not once has he walked up to a store shelf and asked me to buy one of the items for him.
I got to thinking about the absurdity of consumerism while I was buying supplies for his birthday party a few weeks back. After picking up some basic partyware, I was wandering the aisles, looking at the astounding array of cheaply made junk designed to be purchased as "party favors" to fill little gift bags for the young guests. You know the stuff I'm talking about -- little plastic toys and jewelry and such that seems to fall apart almost at once.
It occurred to me that this stuff, all from China, was no doubt manufactured in one of those industrial cities that belch filth into the sky day and night and coat everything they make with toxic paint. Then it was taken in big, gas-guzzling, carbon-monoxide-emitting trucks to the seaport, where it was shipped across the Pacific, only to be placed on yet another greenhouse-gas form of transportation until it reached the middle of the country, where it sat on a store shelf until some well-meaning mother paid a few cents for it in a party-supply store, and probably took it home in a plastic bag. From there, it goes into a gift bag for a child who plays with it a few minutes at most before losing interest (or seeing it fall apart). Shortly thereafter, it's added to an already overflowing landfill.
If it were only little things, perhaps it wouldn't bother me so much. But the sequence of events I've just described applies to a lot of things that take up much more space in those low-mpg trucks -- and eventually in landfills. I'm afraid it's going to apply, eventually, to many of the toys now filling our basement. You know, those toys that Elijah never had much interest in to begin with, for whatever developmental or personality-based reasons.
This isn't to say he doesn't appreciate his gifts. Some of them he has been fanatical about -- Tinkertoys from my dad a few years back come to mind. He spent months carrying around a set of dolls from "Toy Story" from my sister and her boyfriend. He absolutely loves a scooter we bought him with money from my mom, and many of his favorite books are from Jeff's parents. Currently, he's head-over-heels crazy about a computer program Jeff's sister gave him.
But this summer, as I've seen how much he's developed at summer camp, it's become very clear to me that what he needs is not something that comes in a box. (Yes, I know I'm starting to sound like Dr. Suess here; I won't launch into the moral of the Grinch story.) He needs experiences like the one he's getting at camp -- playing sports and learning teamwork and taking swimming lessons and going on field trips and so on. Those summer months can be a developmental death trap for kids with autism, who need structured settings all year round, not just during the school months.
Problem is, summer camp is expensive, even for typical kids. For kids with autism, where a much higher adult-child ratio is necessary, they're even more expensive.
That's why, from now on, we're asking everyone in the family (but thank you to those who are not in the family, for reading this blog anyway! All 10 or 15 of you!) to no longer buy Elijah gifts for Hanukkah and Christmas and his birthday. Trust us, he already has plenty! And we'll make sure he has a few modest presents (from us) to unwrap on those days.
Instead, please consider making a donation toward summer camp, in whatever amount you would have spent on a gift. We're setting up a bank account next week that we intend to use ONLY for summer camp, so we're getting a good start on next year. In addition to a hefty "seed money" contribution of our own, we're using some money my mom left us for gift-buying purposes, as well as a check that Jeff's parents sent for the same purpose (yes, we had intended to get him a small trampoline and probably still will, but we're much more excited about the camp fund!)
My hope is that a few small donations from family throughout the year, along with larger donations by us, will cover most of the cost of camp each summer. At this age, he's just going to a day camp (and a wonderful one it is!), but as he gets older, I hope to give him the experience of a real, in-the-woods sleep-away camp. There is just such a place not far from here, with a session each summer devoted to kids on the autism spectrum. It has all the traditional summer camp experiences: Swimming, fishing, horseback riding, hiking, sports, arts, campfires and s'mores! It's in very high demand and draws applicants from several states, so there's no guarantee we'll get in, but we're sure going to try. I'm even hoping to be involved as a volunteer -- although I must admit I probably wouldn't if they didn't have air-conditioned cabins!
So, if you are on that list of people who always feel obliged (and stumped) when it comes to gift-giving for Elijah, be stumped no more! Help us put a stop to materialism before it even starts for Elijah. Help us make his life more about substance and less about stuff.
Thank you!!!!!
I think about this often as I stand in our basement playroom, surveying the enormous pile of games and toys that Elijah has accumulated over his six years on the planet. Like any typical American kid, he has way more than he needs. But unlike typical kids, he never really has gotten excited about much of it. Part of that is related to his autism -- he's totally "out of the loop" when it comes to kid culture, and he has no idea what the hot toys are -- or even that there ARE hot toys. Not once has he ever requested a gift of any type, for Christmas or Hanukkah or his birthday (unless you count his lifelong obsession with basketball goals, which he now wants about 20 of). Not once has he begged for something he's seen advertised on TV. Not once has he walked up to a store shelf and asked me to buy one of the items for him.
I got to thinking about the absurdity of consumerism while I was buying supplies for his birthday party a few weeks back. After picking up some basic partyware, I was wandering the aisles, looking at the astounding array of cheaply made junk designed to be purchased as "party favors" to fill little gift bags for the young guests. You know the stuff I'm talking about -- little plastic toys and jewelry and such that seems to fall apart almost at once.
It occurred to me that this stuff, all from China, was no doubt manufactured in one of those industrial cities that belch filth into the sky day and night and coat everything they make with toxic paint. Then it was taken in big, gas-guzzling, carbon-monoxide-emitting trucks to the seaport, where it was shipped across the Pacific, only to be placed on yet another greenhouse-gas form of transportation until it reached the middle of the country, where it sat on a store shelf until some well-meaning mother paid a few cents for it in a party-supply store, and probably took it home in a plastic bag. From there, it goes into a gift bag for a child who plays with it a few minutes at most before losing interest (or seeing it fall apart). Shortly thereafter, it's added to an already overflowing landfill.
If it were only little things, perhaps it wouldn't bother me so much. But the sequence of events I've just described applies to a lot of things that take up much more space in those low-mpg trucks -- and eventually in landfills. I'm afraid it's going to apply, eventually, to many of the toys now filling our basement. You know, those toys that Elijah never had much interest in to begin with, for whatever developmental or personality-based reasons.
This isn't to say he doesn't appreciate his gifts. Some of them he has been fanatical about -- Tinkertoys from my dad a few years back come to mind. He spent months carrying around a set of dolls from "Toy Story" from my sister and her boyfriend. He absolutely loves a scooter we bought him with money from my mom, and many of his favorite books are from Jeff's parents. Currently, he's head-over-heels crazy about a computer program Jeff's sister gave him.
But this summer, as I've seen how much he's developed at summer camp, it's become very clear to me that what he needs is not something that comes in a box. (Yes, I know I'm starting to sound like Dr. Suess here; I won't launch into the moral of the Grinch story.) He needs experiences like the one he's getting at camp -- playing sports and learning teamwork and taking swimming lessons and going on field trips and so on. Those summer months can be a developmental death trap for kids with autism, who need structured settings all year round, not just during the school months.
Problem is, summer camp is expensive, even for typical kids. For kids with autism, where a much higher adult-child ratio is necessary, they're even more expensive.
That's why, from now on, we're asking everyone in the family (but thank you to those who are not in the family, for reading this blog anyway! All 10 or 15 of you!) to no longer buy Elijah gifts for Hanukkah and Christmas and his birthday. Trust us, he already has plenty! And we'll make sure he has a few modest presents (from us) to unwrap on those days.
Instead, please consider making a donation toward summer camp, in whatever amount you would have spent on a gift. We're setting up a bank account next week that we intend to use ONLY for summer camp, so we're getting a good start on next year. In addition to a hefty "seed money" contribution of our own, we're using some money my mom left us for gift-buying purposes, as well as a check that Jeff's parents sent for the same purpose (yes, we had intended to get him a small trampoline and probably still will, but we're much more excited about the camp fund!)
My hope is that a few small donations from family throughout the year, along with larger donations by us, will cover most of the cost of camp each summer. At this age, he's just going to a day camp (and a wonderful one it is!), but as he gets older, I hope to give him the experience of a real, in-the-woods sleep-away camp. There is just such a place not far from here, with a session each summer devoted to kids on the autism spectrum. It has all the traditional summer camp experiences: Swimming, fishing, horseback riding, hiking, sports, arts, campfires and s'mores! It's in very high demand and draws applicants from several states, so there's no guarantee we'll get in, but we're sure going to try. I'm even hoping to be involved as a volunteer -- although I must admit I probably wouldn't if they didn't have air-conditioned cabins!
So, if you are on that list of people who always feel obliged (and stumped) when it comes to gift-giving for Elijah, be stumped no more! Help us put a stop to materialism before it even starts for Elijah. Help us make his life more about substance and less about stuff.
Thank you!!!!!
Friday, July 10, 2009
There's no place like home
I always knew Elijah would love "The Wizard of Oz"; it was in his genes. (I had been Munchkin of the Day on a local radio show many, many years ago.) So I was excited to see that it was going to be playing uninterrupted on TCM this past holiday weekend. Yay, DVR!
Boy, was I right. He was riveted to the screen for the entire movie. He loved the music, the color of OZ and especially the main characters (the Wicked Witch didn't scare him, but the flying monkeys necessitated Daddy sharing the chair for hugs). When we went to the park that night for fireworks, the walk back to the car was punctuated by Elijah's singing of "We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of OZ. Because because because because because because because because" (at this point Daddy, for the peace of mind of anyone walking near us, informed Elijah that it was because of the wonderful things he does.)
His love of the film hasn't waned (like any child, he will watch something that he likes over and over again), and repeated viewings have caused his creative side to emerge. At the top of this post is the front of a card he did today. Below is the inside ...
This is one of many wonderful things he does!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The Cadillac of camps
So it's been awhile. But give me a break, OK? What with hauling Elijah to and from camp every day, working until midnight four nights a week, trying to make it to the gym four days a week (success!) and trying to keep the jungle known as our yard under control (failure), blogging has fallen a bit by the wayside for both Jeff and me. I see that we haven't even updated those "Spring Arrives At Last" pictures there on the right. Perhaps by the first snowfall, we'll get around to it.
All in all, we've been having a good summer. Elijah's camp experience is going well, except that the therapists are a bit frustrated with his inattentiveness (which I refer to as spaciness) and his failure to follow directions (which I refer to as just plain annoying).
It's been suggested that we try a gluten-free diet, which, if you know anything about autism, is the standard well-meaning suggestion from well-meaning people who do not share a home with an extraordinarily picky eater -- a topic I covered thoroughly in my June 9 post and will spare you from rehashing here.
I'm all for improving his diet, but once you eliminate pizza, mac and cheese, bagel chips, pretzels, cookies, granola bars, bread, crackers, cake, spaghetti, all other pasta, all other baked goods and anything that involves flour or wheat in any form, you pretty much eliminate the entire American diet. (Which, come to think of it, is the whole point of that documentary "Food, Inc." and is, in theory, not a bad idea.)
Yes, adults with celiac disease manage just fine without gluten, but adults with celiac disease understand WHY they need to manage their diets very carefully. Just try explaining the (scientifically tenuous) connection between autism and diet to a 6-year-old who has no idea what the words "autism" or "diet" mean, much less the word "gluten," but knows he's very hungry right now and Mommy won't let him have a granola bar OR bagel chips OR mac and cheese OR waffles OR cereal OR toast OR .... you get the idea.
I'm sure at this point you're wondering, "Why doesn't she just try the gluten-free alternatives in the supermarket?" To which I can only reply, have YOU ever tried them? If so, my sympathies. Super-mint toothpaste will help get that taste out of your mouth.
So, on we go. We're within six weeks of the start of kindergarten, and state budget cuts have made it extremely unlikely that there will be a para in the classroom to help Elijah and other "spacy" (or, if you prefer, "special needs") kids through the day. It makes me really dread the school year. And really grateful that I'm not a kindergarten teacher.
Still, I'm trying to go forward with some degree of optimism. At the very least, we have Elijah in a good place for the summer -- a much better place than being home with a sleep-deprived night-shift-working mom. (Note to self: In next life, be born wealthy and never have to work for a living. There! I feel more optimistic already.)
As a measure of just how great this camp is, consider this: For Elijah's birthday, the camp arranged for all the kids to take a limousine ride to Chuck-E-Cheese (which could probably just rename itself Chuck-E-Gluten).
Limo rides are no big deal to a lot of kids in my area -- no self-respecting 8-year-old girl around here would be caught dead throwing a birthday party that didn't include a limo ride and some sort of "spa day" -- but I am of a more down-to-earth nature, and this was Elijah's first-ever view of the inside of a limo. (Mine, too, actually. Until three weeks ago, I could always note with pride that I would never be pretentious enough to go anywhere in a limo. Now I've wasted that source of pride on a franchise pizza place featuring a giant singing mouse.)
So here it is -- the gas-guzzling, global-warming Cadillac Escalade behemoth that transported a group of wide-eyed kids and their moms (and in Elijah's case, grandma) for a spin around the suburbs and to the much-beloved Chuck-E-Cheese.
As everyone used to say in those months after Sept. 11, that's why they hate us!
All in all, we've been having a good summer. Elijah's camp experience is going well, except that the therapists are a bit frustrated with his inattentiveness (which I refer to as spaciness) and his failure to follow directions (which I refer to as just plain annoying).
It's been suggested that we try a gluten-free diet, which, if you know anything about autism, is the standard well-meaning suggestion from well-meaning people who do not share a home with an extraordinarily picky eater -- a topic I covered thoroughly in my June 9 post and will spare you from rehashing here.
I'm all for improving his diet, but once you eliminate pizza, mac and cheese, bagel chips, pretzels, cookies, granola bars, bread, crackers, cake, spaghetti, all other pasta, all other baked goods and anything that involves flour or wheat in any form, you pretty much eliminate the entire American diet. (Which, come to think of it, is the whole point of that documentary "Food, Inc." and is, in theory, not a bad idea.)
Yes, adults with celiac disease manage just fine without gluten, but adults with celiac disease understand WHY they need to manage their diets very carefully. Just try explaining the (scientifically tenuous) connection between autism and diet to a 6-year-old who has no idea what the words "autism" or "diet" mean, much less the word "gluten," but knows he's very hungry right now and Mommy won't let him have a granola bar OR bagel chips OR mac and cheese OR waffles OR cereal OR toast OR .... you get the idea.
I'm sure at this point you're wondering, "Why doesn't she just try the gluten-free alternatives in the supermarket?" To which I can only reply, have YOU ever tried them? If so, my sympathies. Super-mint toothpaste will help get that taste out of your mouth.
So, on we go. We're within six weeks of the start of kindergarten, and state budget cuts have made it extremely unlikely that there will be a para in the classroom to help Elijah and other "spacy" (or, if you prefer, "special needs") kids through the day. It makes me really dread the school year. And really grateful that I'm not a kindergarten teacher.
Still, I'm trying to go forward with some degree of optimism. At the very least, we have Elijah in a good place for the summer -- a much better place than being home with a sleep-deprived night-shift-working mom. (Note to self: In next life, be born wealthy and never have to work for a living. There! I feel more optimistic already.)
As a measure of just how great this camp is, consider this: For Elijah's birthday, the camp arranged for all the kids to take a limousine ride to Chuck-E-Cheese (which could probably just rename itself Chuck-E-Gluten).
Limo rides are no big deal to a lot of kids in my area -- no self-respecting 8-year-old girl around here would be caught dead throwing a birthday party that didn't include a limo ride and some sort of "spa day" -- but I am of a more down-to-earth nature, and this was Elijah's first-ever view of the inside of a limo. (Mine, too, actually. Until three weeks ago, I could always note with pride that I would never be pretentious enough to go anywhere in a limo. Now I've wasted that source of pride on a franchise pizza place featuring a giant singing mouse.)
So here it is -- the gas-guzzling, global-warming Cadillac Escalade behemoth that transported a group of wide-eyed kids and their moms (and in Elijah's case, grandma) for a spin around the suburbs and to the much-beloved Chuck-E-Cheese.
As everyone used to say in those months after Sept. 11, that's why they hate us!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Why, no matter how frustrated we may get, being a parent is the best!!
Nothing more needs to be said.
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