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!!!!!

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!

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!

Why, no matter how frustrated we may get, being a parent is the best!!

Nothing more needs to be said.

Summer's here and the time is right for......doing family things?

OK ... so maybe that isn't the way the Stones wrote the song, but Mick and Keith are both grandparents now, so they would understand. Of course, their summer escapades include visits to exotic beaches on faraway islands while ours are to the local park pool. C'est le difference!

The "park pool" today is not like the one I grew up going to, an Olympic-size pool surrounded by concrete and a wire fence. Our local "Aquatic Center" has three different pools, a fountain garden, slides and lots of grass and shade. (Surrounded by a chain link fence ... some things just can't be improved upon.) Elijah loves going there and has graduated from the zero-depth entry to, as he calls it, "the big pool." With his life vest on, he fearlessly paddles out to where Dad has to bounce on his toes to keep his head above water (and no, that's not in four feet of water!).

Here in the Midwest, Memorial Day is the opening of summer, and Elijah and I were at the pool the first weekend. With the temperature just barely reaching the high 70's, the water was a bit cold. How cold? As I waded in, this was my first thought:

But wade I did as the little guy, with his life vest on, took off for uncharted waters. His laughter and joy helped warm the water (but not that much!).

Memorial Day weekend included not only a dip in the pool, but also a family outing to a free symphony concert and fireworks show at a local landmark. Elijah staked out his seat early for the show, but as you can see it was right in the middle of the walkway.

With some (ahem) coaxing, and the promise of shared frozen custard with Dad, he relented and moved onto the lawn with everyone else.

The next weekend we all went to a street festival in a historic district near us. As with other carnivals and fairs, Mom volunteered for Ferris wheel duty while Dad gladly took pictures from the ground. Elijah loved the rides, especially the variety of moonwalks available. All in all, a happy day for the family.

Which brings us up to last weekend. On Friday, the yearly Jazz Fest (which is held in a wooded area that houses a corporate park) was our destination. Although music filled the air, all Elijah wanted to do was go on the variety of moonwalks that were there....over and over and over again. After that it was time to cool off in the fountains, where the music finally caused him to have a case of "happy feet."

All of this was just a prelude for Elijah's birthday party (the first of two, his camp is giving him one this week at Chuck-E-Cheese's, limo ride included) which was a huge success. Sarah agonized over what kind of party to have and decided to let our health club sponsor it (it's a great facility with a great kids program). Neighbors and friends from school (well, they want to be his friend, even though Elijah ignores them most of the time) ate cake and ice cream and then went swimming in the large INDOOR pool. Yes, even though we had scheduled the party to be at the outdoor pool facility, the staff thought it would be too cold and moved it indoors. Since I was one of the parents in the pool, I was not entirely opposed to the decision (see earlier mention of pool temperature in this post).

Elijah loved being lifted up from the water and the air was filled with lots of kids screaming in delight. In fact, bouncing with Elijah in the pool and all of the kids in the water having a great time, it felt as if summer had really arrived.

An (almost) acquired taste

So here we are, midway through week two of Elijah's eight-week summer adventure at Camp Kidz Rock, a day camp for kids on the autism spectrum.

And what a summer it is shaping up to be! I was determined to find him a place that would be what summer camp is supposed to be: Active, outdoorsy, engaging and adventuresome. A place that understood autism and its limitations but was not encumbered by those limitations. A place that would mix him in with "typical" kids, without expecting him to BE a typical kid. A place that would never use the words "computer" and "camp" in the same sentence. (Really, that ought to be against the law.)

It appears that we have hit the jackpot. Already, Elijah has played kickball, T-ball, tag and Red Rover. He's had a skinned elbow, a sweaty forehead and grass-stained knees. He's learned new songs, tried out several musical instruments and gone on multiple field trips. He's learned about teamwork and sportsmanship. He'll be going to a minor-league baseball game this week. And he always has a smile on his face when I pick him up in the afternoons.

Most notable, though, is the fact that the camp therapists have actually coaxed him to eat foods that are outside his list.

If you've ever been a parent, or have even spent much time in the vicinity of small children, you know what I mean by the "list." It's that limited number of foods that most small children will eat -- pizza, chicken nuggets, that sort of thing. I remember being a fanatically picky eater as a child (and frankly, I still am), and I don't know a mother anywhere who hasn't pulled her hair out over the refusal of her little darlings to eat anything "normal." Many young children will eat only beige food, or go days or even weeks eating ONE food only (mac and cheese -- which of course is beige! -- seems to be the most common obsession of these one-dish diners).

Elijah's list, on the other hand, is fairly broad. He'll eat several types of protein (hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, milk, cheese and eggs) as well as two vegetables (carrots and broccoli) and a smattering of other things, mostly sugar-filled. Granola bars are one of his favorite foods, and if you think this is a good thing, you obviously haven't read the nutrition and ingredient labels on granola bars lately.

But his list has not changed one iota in nearly four years. And when you are not yet six years old, that's quite a while.

Of course, the parenting "experts" of the world have all sorts of theories about why kids like Elijah (along with about 80 percent of his age cohort) are such picky eaters. They write entire books about it, and from what I can tell by reading the dust jackets and book reviews (which is as far as I will go), they cast blame squarely on the demise of the "family dinner hour."

The what?

I don't know about you, but the family dinner hour has never been much a part of my life, or the lives of most people I know. I did an informal poll at work, involving everyone who happened to be within earshot on a recent evening, and we are all frankly stumped about this "family dinner hour." One co-worker theorized that it was something that occurred back in the immediate post-World War II era, just before the invention of TV dinners. Another was convinced it was a complete fiction invented by previous generations to be used as a tool to heap guilt on working mothers who couldn't possibly get home in time to fix dinner and sports-obsessed fathers who kept their kids in organized youth activities well into the evening all year long.

In any case, even those co-workers who are well into their 60s suspect that this family dinner hour thing is a myth, because they have no memory of it, either as children or during their child-rearing years.

Perhaps it should be noted that this poll was underway at approximately 7:30 p.m., which would be ..... the family dinner hour? Beats us.

But Elijah is now learning all about family-style dining. That's because his camp takes place at a campus shared by a Montessori school, where family dining is the rule. The "campus" is actually a group of adjacent cottages on a quiet residential street with a very cozy, homey feeling. The campers eat with the Montessori kids, out on big picnic tables underneath gigantic oak trees on the school's playground.

The point, I've surmised, is to teach table manners. As in, pass the potatoes, please. May I have some more roast beef? Would you like some green beans? Thank you for the apple slices!

You'll notice I didn't put quotes around those words, because I myself have never heard them spoken by our little camper. Yes, we have the "please" and "thank you" thing down (we are not total cretins, after all), but .... roast beef? Green beans? Apple slices? These are nowhere near Elijah's list, and neither are most of the other things on the menu (things like "lemony pasta salad," for instance).

But through extensive coaxing and bribing, the camp staff have persuaded Elijah to eat two bites of a turkey sandwich, two bites of corn, three bites of cheese quesadillas and FOUR entire bites of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich -- a miracle I personally witnessed on a "family day" field trip to a botanical garden (Which also featured a lovely performance by professional harpists at a beautifully landscaped clearing in the woods. Elijah is absolutely captivated by stringed instruments.)

So far there has not been any consumption of fruit -- a food group that apparently affects Elijah the same way seafood and organ meats affect me. As in -- forget it.

Every day since he was born, he has seen me eat fruit -- I LOVE fruit -- and we are now approaching his sixth birthday without any interest on his part in the myriad varieties of fruit I put on his plate. (True quote from his pediatrician: "Sometimes, it takes up to 20 tries before a child is willing to put a new food in his mouth." Yeah, right. At this point, we have reached well over 1,000 tries. Thanks, doc.)

The camp staff have gotten as far as having Elijah put a bit of strawberry in his mouth, which he spits out as soon as he is allowed to. But still, this represents progress. And progress is a very exciting thing.

Next up: Elijah's birthday! The camp will be celebrating it, as it falls within the "parties and celebrations"-themed session, which begins next week. And of course, we have our own party planned for him, with about 10 or 12 young guests and their parents, poolside at our health club. In addition to an hour of pool time, there'll be plenty of pizza, cake and ice cream.

And, since it's HIS day -- not a bit of fruit in sight.

Dinners of the damned

You hear a lot these days about layoffs and what they are doing to workplaces. Low morale, heavier workload on those left behind, survivor's guilt.

I can relate to the lowered morale and the heavier workload, but survivor's guilt? Sorry, can't go there. I've worked past midnight and every weekend and pretty much every holiday for too many years and am simply too exhausted by my schedule (and the fact that I haven't had a week off in nearly a year) to feel survivor's guilt.

Don't get me wrong -- I am very grateful to have a job at all in this economy, and I intend to do my best at that job as long as it is there for me. I have no choice -- our household depends on two incomes. But reading all these articles about post-layoff workplace issues has me wondering if those who write them have any clue what they're talking about.

Take the office refrigerator. Please.

No one ever seems to write about this, which is why I'm convinced that the layoff stories I read in newspapers are written by free-lancers who never actually set foot in a newsroom.

I've never been unfortunate enough to actually be at the office as co-workers are being told that their services will no longer be needed (one of the few good things about working nights is avoiding these scenes, which generally happen during "regular" hours). So I don't know exactly what people do in those minutes between the time they are informed of their layoff and the time they leave the building.

But I can tell you what they DON'T do -- they don't take their food out of the refrigerator.

The results are predictable, and when I read a Chicago Tribune article a couple of weeks ago about an office refrigerator whose fumes actually resulted in several people being hospitalized, it didn't take much for me to imagine how the situation had developed.

It's been more than two months since the last round of layoffs at my workplace -- and it was a huge round. So you know where this is going.

Yes, the food is still there, festering. No one wants to touch what one of my fellow night-shift workers refers to as the "Dinners of the Damned." And who can blame them? I'm certainly not volunteering for the task. And whoever was disgusted enough to post the aforementioned Chicago Tribune article in the kitchen area of our newsroom apparently didn't volunteer, either.

I haven't given a lot of thought to what I would do if I were laid off. It's unlikely I'd have what it takes to launch into one of those philosophical speeches that movies are made of, or to make a dramatic exit that is forever enshrined in newsroom lore.

I admire those who do make a memorable exit, though. Like one former co-worker who, on layoff day, got "the call" to please come up to the publisher's office. Sure, she said, I'll be right up. Rumor has it that she immediately headed there, where her supervisor and other bureaucratic types were waiting. But instead of taking a left and going up the stairs at the end of the hall, she took a right -- straight down the stairs, out to the parking lot and off into the sunset. (On behalf of beleaguered worker bees everywhere, here's to you, G.B.!)

I hope the layoff scenes are over. But if I should get the ax, you can bet I won't take long to pack my stuff. I won't scream, cry, throw a fit or launch into a soapbox rant about the disintegrating morals of corporate America. I'll probably just quietly fade away.

And I'll take my dinner with me.