Problem-solving in action

Um, two things about yesterday's post. I probably should have included a teeeny bit of additional information about the searching for the sheets. You see, Oliver is not the great communicator that his brother is. So he didn't exactly say: There's no sheet so I'm gonna find one. Instead, I watched him go first to RT's room, come out empty-handed, then walk down the hall to my room. Curious, I followed him and stood in the doorway watching as my boy yanked the sheets from my bed in a very determined fashion and then dragged them back to his room! Oliver never once thought to look in the linen closet. Or maybe, knowing what kind of housekeeper his mother is, he just knew better!

The boys and I did make jelly today. We spent a good hour this morning stirring and mixing and ladling. Then I did the hot, heavy work of canning while the boys swam. Unfortunately, we'll have to put our problem-solving skills to work later this week when we figure out how to redo our hard work. It appears our jelly didn't gel! As frustrated as I feel about this, after spending most of a ninety degree day in front of the stove, I had to laugh when Sami turned the teaching tables on me and consoled: "It's ok, Mom. We'll figure it out and do a better job next time!"

Yes, indeedy!

What goes into a jar of jelly

September is approaching and I couldn't be happier. Once again, August has kicked my butt. I'm exhausted. My feet hurt from standing in the kitchen for hours and hours. My house is filthy dirty from all the produce that gets lugged in and out on a daily basis. And yet? Yesterday I brought home about 50lbs of grapes (that I got for free!!) that hopefully will soon be made into juice and jelly and will bring a bit of summer sweetness to the days ahead when we need to conjure it most. And maybe you would be surprised to hear that this is on top of the 75lbs that I brought home a week ago (also free, free, free!)!

I write here about our efforts to eat locally and I believe that this is a manageable, important bit of activism and that it is a vital part of teaching my kids to live in this world. But unless you read between the lines you might not get a good glimpse of how much my children participate in this part of our lives. This week, for instance, the kids have worked right alongside me as I picked grapes, carried them home, sorted them, removed the stems, crushed them, stirred them, poured them into a strainer, then made jelly and juice for canning. My kids work as hard as I do, but -- between you and me? They think it's fun!

I give most of the credit for this to RDI. If Oliver didn't have autism and I was just parenting the way I hope I might have, maybe I would have come to this kind of "extreme cooperative venture" parenting anyway. But probably not. Maybe it is an  unexpected gift of autism that I've found a way to slow down and include my children in just about every thing that I do. And the truly stunning part for me is to realize how much a kid can learn about problem-solving and decision-making in little moments throughout the day that we might otherwise rush through. Like: What can we use to stir this? How do you know if a grape is good enough for the pot or should be thrown into the compost? What size bowl should we use? How do we know when it has cooked long enough? Of course each kid is contributing and being challenged on different levels, but they are both there with me, learning together. And do you know what? I am new to most of this, too. So we are learning and figuring things out together. And honestly? It feels like a grand adventure!

So yes, that is very cool and it is extremely rewarding when everything is going well -- it doesn't always, trust me! But yesterday, when we were taking a rest from the great grape escapade, I asked the kids to please go and clean their room. And can I just tell you how amazing it was to watch Oliver and Sami work together to 1) pick up all the books and put them away, 2) make the bed, 3) put their own folded clothes away and 4) vacuum the floor? I mean, Oliver blows me away. A year ago I was writing about how much trouble he was having just locating his clothes in the closet to get dressed in the mornings! All those times when we have worked together cleaning their room, problem-solving along the way and now I see that it really has come to pass that he can figure things out. Today, for instance, there were no sheets for the bed so Oliver went from room to room looking for a sheet! In times past he would simply have given up and gone on to do something else.

When I do these every day kinds of things with the kids it is never really with the intention of teaching them how to make jelly or juice or whatever. Rather, it is teaching them how to approach thinking about things: how to plan, how to react when something doesn't quite go the way we expect, how to decide when something is good enough, how to work together. But the upside? The beds are made and we will have a bit of summer sweetness to carry us through the winter months ahead!

Happy Birthday, my little one.

It's late and I'm tired but I couldn't let this day go by without telling the world how much I love you, Oliver.  So even though you kept me up last night between 2:30 and 6am, I think I'll keep you.  But let's not make it a habit again, OK?  I have a feeling that eight is going to be an awesome year, we have a lot of adventures ahead of us, and I want to be well rested for it.

Why I love biking with my boy and a video

It occurs to me that I've written a lot here about riding bikes lately. Maybe that is because it has become a very big part of our family identity and maybe it is because I continue to be thrilled each and every time I go for a ride with my kids -- Oliver in particular. It is also a little bit because everyday I appreciate that I can share this thing that I love with my boys. I don't take that for granted.

One thing in particular that blows me away each and every time we ride is how it highlights Oliver's abilities. I spend too much time thinking about dis-ability and our daily rides have become a powerful reminder that there is so much my boy can and will do in this life. For example, Nik and I communicate to the boys while riding using lots and lots of gestures: over here, go that way, turn here, get up on the sidewalk, ride on the street, come this way, stop, go, go slow, stay steady. ... it is endless and varied and amazing that Oliver flawlessly reads our non-verbal communication. Watching his ability to shift focus between the road ahead and his riding partner, making adjustments along the way, makes me endlessly proud. Incidentally, both of these things -- maintaining coordination with a partner and reading non-verbal communication -- are RDI learning objectives that we have worked on, they didn't come naturally or easily for my boy. But now they are like second nature. How cool is that?

I've been teaching a friend's child to ride, just a little bit each week, and wanted to post a video showing what it looks like when a child is just starting with the gliding technique. I got several comments and e-mails after my last post from parents whose kids were not gung ho about learning.  The boy in this video is really very anxious about getting on the bike. He likes it a bit more since we took the pedals off-- at least he is willing to get on the bike -- but declares he is walking the bike, not riding, which I think makes him feel more confident. No matter -- he is still out there, still trying and I know he will get it eventually. The other boys demonstrate the gliding technique, which I included to show you how much fun this can be!

A little homefront update: language and sleep

Someone asked me today why I think the words -- the sentences -- are coming easier for Oliver. And there is no doubt that it is getting easier for him. When Oliver becomes distressed during the course of any day I remind him that he can tell me what is wrong and then there it is: "I want a turn." "I feel hungry. I want to eat." "I want to go upstairs and get dressed." "I want to have that." "I want Sami to stop it." "I'm full. I don't want to eat that." "I want to put my bathing suit on and I need help."

I don't know, really, why everything seems to be coming together for my boy. But I do know that his receptive language has reached a point where there is no doubt that he understands almost every single thing that is said to him. I am sure of this because I have purposefully grown less careful in how I communicate. I am less explicit. For example, the other day we were collecting our milk from the farm, I had taken about a dozen steps from the milking shed with my arms full when I mentally noted that I forgotten to close the door behind me. "Oh, shoot!" I said. Then, pointing with my pursed lips in the direction of the door, I asked: "Oliver, could you get that for me?" Without missing a beat Oliver walked back to the building and closed the door. Then, later, Oliver closed his car door and started to buckle himself in without noticing that the door didn't latch all the way. From outside the car I said: "I don't think that did the trick!" In one fluid motion, Oliver looked up, saw what I was talking about and closed the door more securely. There are more examples, I'm sure (like telling him to skootch over when I wanted to sit, then having him do just that!) but these are the ones that come to mind.

Oliver is also -- unbelievably -- still sleeping through the night. We had a couple of rough weeks this summer when I wondered if our lucky streak had ended. But I think that had more to do with the copious amounts of pool water that Oliver was drinking every day! It took us some time to get that sorted out and soon we were back to sleeping all night every blessed night. It feels like we've won the lottery. Seriously.

I don't know what to think about all this wonderful language that we've been hearing. Obviously, Oliver is still greatly impaired when it comes to his ability to communicate. He still struggles. A lot. But hearing these words, these sentences, come forth has allowed a little blossom of hope to grow and I can almost imagine the day when we will have a conversation. 

From training wheels to two wheels -- how to teach your kid to ride a bike without breaking your back

One of my favorite people, KAL of Autism Twins, recently suggested that I put together a post about teaching your child how to ride a bike without training wheels. Over the past two years I have been regularly conducting bicycle clinics in my community and have picked up a couple of tips and tricks that you might find useful if you want to teach any young child to go from training wheels to two wheels. It is a very low anxiety method and good for kids with all kinds of challenges. I put together these clinics mainly for kids with disabilities but normally there is a pretty good mix of kids who show up and parents are always so happy that they don't have to spend many back-breaking hours teaching their kids.  And I don't have to tell you how important I think learning to ride a bike is for any kid!

So, here is a brief run-down of things you should do and think about:
1) Make sure that you have a properly sized bike for your child. The child should be able to sit comfortably on the saddle while both feet are flat on the ground. Adjust the seat if necessary. Many parents buy a bike that is too large thinking that the child will grow into it, but this will make it very challenging for a child to make the transition from training wheels. If your child's bike is too large, see if you can borrow a smaller one.

2) Remove the pedals and the crank arms from the bike. This is usually not difficult if you have a pedal wrench or even just a regular wrench. If you aren't tool savvy, you can probably take it to your local bike shop and have them removed. It only takes a second and they probably won't even charge you. (**note: some children's bikes can be slightly more complicated, requiring removal of the chain and chain guard. This is also pretty simple but might warrant a trip to the bike shop if you don't feel confident that you can put it back together again :-)

3) Teach balance. The next step is to teach the child to use his or her feet in a gliding pattern that move them forward. The goal here is to teach balance. Eventually, you will want your child to be able to take long strides, building a gliding pattern as he goes. Some children start off very slowly, almost at a walking pace. This is fine. Remember, you can't make your child discover how to balance on the bike! Let him take it at his own pace. I have known kids who get this in a half hour and others who have worked at this stage for 3-4 months.

If your child is really struggling with this, try finding a place where there is a very, very slight hill for him to practice on. Gravity will help with the momentum.

Also, it always helps to demonstrate rather than explain -- especially if your child has any kind of processing disorder! When I teach a clinic I always bring Sami and Oliver along so that kids can see what this gliding technique is supposed to look like. A child who already knows how to ride a bike would work well.

4) Change his center of gravity. When your child is able to consistently glide over long distances (15-20 feet), challenge him to raise his feet up and place them on the frame of the bike, lifting his center of gravity to where it will need to be when you add the pedals back on. Many kids start off in the gliding process by keeping their legs straight down in a kind of downward "V". This is fine in the beginning but eventually they should be able to place their feet on the frame.

Don't be afraid to spend too long on this stage. Parents frequently want to rush to the next stage of putting the pedals back on the bike. But gliding (balancing) is a new skill for your child -- and it is FUN! Let your child develop confidence here -- it will make it easier to incorporate adding the next skill: pedaling. Also, it will save you and your child any frustrations if you realize that you've put the pedals on too soon and you have to take them off again!

5) Put the pedals back on. When your child is comfortable gliding and can do so consistently, it is time to put the pedals back on. The transition from balancing and gliding to balancing and pedaling is usually pretty quick. You will want to make sure your child knows how to use the brakes. If he doesn't, don't worry -- just be prepared to do a lot of running :-)  When the child starts on the bike with the pedals for the first time, you may have to help him get started by resting your hand on his back and possibly pushing a tiny bit. At this point it is generally a confidence issue -- he has already demonstrated that he has the ability to balance. Now it is a matter of adding in another kind of movement with the pedals.

The whole process is probably much easier than you've feared it might be. But just remember that the most important this is to have fun! And don't forget to be safe: make sure your child always wears a helmet. If you don't have one, many communities have free helmet programs for kids; check with your local police station or bike shop to find out what is available in your area.

A story about a boy, a bike, some vegetables and a brother

If you're reading this because you love a person on the spectrum, then you might also know that among the heroes in any story about a family affected by autism are the siblings. Our family is no exception; Oliver's brother, Sami is quite definitely exceptional.

So, last spring Nik and I noted aloud to Sami that by the time his next birthday rolled around, in March 2011, he would be ready for a bigger bike. If you are a long time reader of this blog, you also know that we do quite a lot of biking as a family. Almost everyday you will find us out and about on our bikes. This summer some of our rides have been as long as 6-8 miles. That might not sound like a lot until you consider that little Sami rides a bike that probably comes up to your knees. For every revolution of my pedals, Sami was cranking out two or three rotations. It was exhausting to watch him but he never complained. Sami is quite a good sport that way.

(And yes, please don't tell me that tomatoes is spelled wrong -- I ran out of room and that apostrophe? It is NOT an apostrophe but a very small "E".)

Somehow, as Spring progressed, Sami and I agreed that if he wanted a bigger bike before his birthday then he would have to earn the money and buy it himself. It was then that the idea of a vegetable stand was conceived. Together, we planted almost 20 tomato plants in our yard with the idea that when they started to bear fruit, Sami could sell them on the sidewalk by the corner. The vegetable stand was a great impetus for all sorts of homeschool lessons and the more Sami learned about money the more excited he became. We went to a local bike shop and Sami chose a nice, used Trek, similar to the one Oliver rides. It cost $120. Calculating in my head how many tomatoes the boy would have to sell to earn that much I estimated that it would be a long, long while until he was wheeling away on the new bike.

The first day of the vegetable stand was dismal. Sami made fifty cents and we sat on that hot, hot street corner for ninety minutes. I was loathe to go out the next day and thought briefly about working out another way for him to earn the money. But Sami, for his part, was so enthusiastic and optimistic. After all, he had earned fifty cents!!

We never had another day in which Sami only made fifty cents. In fact, it was often the case that Sami made $10 in ten minutes. Something about home grown tomatoes? Or a red-headed boy with a banjo? Who knows! But he learned to pick the best sales times: Saturday mornings and afternoons between 4:30 - 5:30 when people were heading home  from work. And when he saw how well the tomatoes were selling he asked about selling green beans. He could buy them from the farm stand and sell them for twenty-five cents more a pound than what he paid. Cucumbers, too. Sami, it seemed, was turning into quite an little entrepreneur.

To make a long story short, and to leave out a lot of long, hot hours on the curb, I can tell you that Sami earned the money for his new bike in just about two weeks. You have never seen a prouder five year old than when he sat on the counter of the bike shop and counted out all those ones and fives. And you would have to wait a week later to see a mother even prouder of that boy.

You see, a week after Sami  purchased his new bike he began to pester me to revive the vegetable stand. Every time I walked in from the garden with a load of tomatoes he begged me to give them to him for his vegetable stand. Every time we picked up a load of green beans destined for the freezer he tried to talk me out of a couple two-pound bags. It was ridiculous. And finally, exasperated, I asked him: "Sami, you already have  your bike, what else do you want to buy?" And he responded with the best, most amazing thing I ever heard a boy of five say. He said: "I want to buy Oliver one of those computers that will help him learn."

It took a moment for the enormity of what he said to sink in. I asked him, "What do you mean?" And he said, "You know, the one where you just have to touch the screen that will be easier for Oliver and will help him learn to talk."

We talk pretty openly in our house about just about everything, including autism and including our finances. We talk to the kids honestly about what things cost and what we can afford and about the spending choices that we make. When Nik and I talk about money we don't wait until the kids are out of earshot. And Sami, evidently, had heard me talking about wanting to afford an iPad for Oliver. Lately I have seen and read so many exciting things about it -- from watching Oliver use one with his speech therapist to this article -- but with a price tag in the hundreds of dollars it is just not something that we can afford without planning and budgeting. You know how it goes.

But clearly I did not factor in the value of brotherly love or the power of home grown tomatoes.

"So," Sami asked, "can I have a couple of bags of green beans for my vegetable stand?"

I couldn't trust myself to speak at that moment so I simply slid two bags across the table to him.

Then, he leaned in on his elbows and said, "And you know what, mom? You know all those tomatoes that you used to make the sauce today? I'll sell them to you cheap."

So if you see a red-headed boy with a banjo on the street corner selling tomatoes? That's my boy. And I couldn't be prouder.

And speaking of food. ...

I have a new post up at (Never) Too Many Cooks about how to get started eating locally. If I haven't scared you with my tales of the tomato, click on over.

It has begun.

The great tomato carnage of 2010 has begun.

The Tomato Post -- that wasn't. Or, About a boy and his words.

So, I'll bet you thought this post was going to be about how we to took that gazillion pounds of tomatoes and handily whipped up giant batches of sauce and salsa that will keep us going all winter, right? Um, yeah. Well,  instead, it is about how I begin to hyperventilate every time I go near the kitchen and catch a sight of these angry veggies staring back at me:

What was I thinking? And there is at least that much again on the vine outside. I ought to have my head examined! Clearly I am a warped individual.

But instead of persevarating on the tomatoes, I'll tell you a nice little story about a mostly non-verbal little boy. Oliver, it seems is figuring out this communication thing. And it is happening in great, giant, delicious bursts. Full sentences like: "I want to sit here. Get up." and "Sami, I want to draw pictures." and, "Papi, can I have a quarter?" And my personal favorite (said while handing me a plate full of green beans): "I don't want to eat this. I want chips with cheese."

All of Oliver's words and sentences are said slowly, with space in between the words, in which I imagine the words and the sounds traveling some complicated neural backwoods road. But they are finding their way out and he is making himself understood. For a boy of almost eight, a boy who once could not produce a single word, it feels like we are nearing some mountaintop of achievement.

It makes me think anything is possible. And that, my friends, is a very nice feeling.

The pickle post

It's August. It's hot as hell. And I've got like a hundred million pounds of fruits and vegetables waiting to be put up for the winter. "Put up." Sounds kind of quaint, doesn't it? Well it in no way imparts any kind of useful information about how much work is involved in canning.

We didn't do so great with our 100 mile challenge this year. Last year I'd say a good 85% of our food for the entire year was locally produced. This year I let myself off the hook a little bit and found it soooo easy to slide back into the convenience food trap. BUT, the garden we put in didn't get the message and now that August has arrived we are inundated with veggies.

So despite the fact that it was 98 degrees here in Virginia today, the boys and I got to work making pickles. And, since I still have just slightly less than a hundred million pounds of tomatoes waiting for me, you can expect many more picture posts involving food in the coming days. I understand if you aren't too interested, trust me. But you'll probably have to wait awhile for another real post to appear (though you never know!).

In the meantime, behold the pickles:

And the mess that goes along with it (Yes, we live like this!):

 And then? A trip to the river cools us off:

And wild blackberries for dessert:

Life is good.


Next up? Tomato sauce and salsa.

The heart is a muscle -- or reflections from a weekend in NY

It was five years ago this week when a hole ripped wide in my heart upon hearing the words autism for the first time. Little did I know how useful that hole was going to be or how much I would learn to appreciate it: just another instance of things not being what we expect in autismland. Because, you see, the heart is a muscle -- a sometimes unobliging muscle in my case, prone to arguments with my head and not easily influenced by my better judgment. And as a muscle it grows and gains strength when the fibers broken in times of stress are repaired. When the holes and tears in a muscle have been healed it is capable of doing more than it once was able.

The process of gaining a stronger heart has been, shall we say, difficult. The sometimes seismic effect of circumstances have ripped gaping holes at the most unexpected moments. Yet, as it turns out, the holes I've endured not only help that blessed muscle get stronger but make it periodically easier for things to come and go as needed.

The first things to go were false pride and a healthy dose of ego. Later, I learned that anger, resentment and fear could also be ushered out whenever they threatened to upset the balance of things.

The holes, too, created space for things to happen. It created a space that was open enough for me to re-consider my proclivity for judging other people. It created a space in which I understood that it was OK to be vulnerable, where I didn't fear being judged by others.

And it created space for the people who have helped me with all the repair work -- quite necessary when you're constantly being made stronger by all the damned holes!

It created a space for you, my friends. A space for those of you I've met and those I've yet to meet. A space for your sorrows and your joys. A space in which I know we all grow stronger.

Missing in the eye of the beholder

Our neighbor across the back alley had just come home to find that another neighbor's dog had gotten out of the yard. After quickly rounding up the dog and putting him back inside the fence and securely latching the gate, he was surprised to see a bicycle police officer coasting to a stop before him.

"Did you find him?"

"Yeah," said my neighbor, surprised that the police were aware that the dog was loose. His surprise then grew even greater when the officer held his hands out to take his son from his wife who was standing nearby.

It took a minute before they straightened out the fact that one of them was talking about a missing dog and the other about a missing boy. The missing boy that half the police in the city were looking for would be my Oliver. And he wasn't so much missing as, well, sitting quietly on the toilet upstairs in his very own home, quite unaware that his hysterical mother was, well, hysterical.

Confused?

Let me backtrack a moment.

Tonight, the first Tuesday of August is also National Night Out. NNO is an annual event in which city officials visit "at risk" neighborhoods and meet with residents. Our neighborhood, which has a very active neighborhood watch group, is always a stop for the caravan of officials in our city. We combine it with our annual block party and find that it is the one time during the year when many of us can connect and spend a few minutes catching up on the news of each others lives. When the caravan arrives there is generally a good deal of commotion -- and a lot of people. Oh, and did I mention that a good many police officers are among the caravan, including about eight bicycle patrol men?

So anyway, I was talking with two of our city council members, congratulating them for approving a recent bicycle and pedestrian plan for our City and encouraging them to find the money to support the plan, while keeping one eye on Oliver who was keeping to the edge of the fray and hanging out a bit further down the block, closer to the busy intersection, than I normally allow. And then, suddenly, he was gone. When I didn't see him I stopped mid-sentence and sprinted to where I had last seen him, what, 30 seconds before? A minute? Not more than that but long enough. When I didn't see him I sprinted towards the intersection, shouting his name in that panicky voice that comes from a place of deep, deep fear. When I didn't see him at the intersection I sprinted back to the house, calling his name, panic rising.

As I got closer to my house and the party on the street in front, I was vaguely aware that the police were already on the move, someone asked what he was wearing and for his description but I just kept running, not wanting to lose one more second and sure that one of the neighbors could give that information.

Oliver, for his part, has become very aware of his surroundings over the past year or so. He seldom ventures out of our yard and when he does he knows how far he is allowed to go. He knows how to look both ways before he crosses the street. And he is not a wanderer. Anymore. But this wasn't always the case. It wasn't that long ago that a passing motorist found him playing on the railroad tracks that cross by a block or so from our house (I found him seconds after they did) or the Sunday evening in Switzerland when he took the scooter without our noticing and rode it all the way down to the playground by the Rhine, crossing train tracks and a major road in the process. It always happens in the blink of an eye. And when it happens you cannot believe how quickly it happened or how stupid you were for not paying more attention.

The back door to our house was propped open so I could more easily carry out everything I needed for the party. As I raced into the downstairs hallway, now very upset and calling Oliver's name, the whole house was quiet. There was no response. No movement, no sound from my little boy who would not just yell out, "What?" in response to my urgent calling but who would, always, come to me. I called again and waited, dreading the silence that followed, my mind racing: what do I do now?! And: This is an emergency!

And then? I heard a small sound from upstairs and after a moment saw my boy walking towards me with his hands clamped over his ears. My shouting had frightened him.

Close on my heels was the Captain of the city SWAT team -- did I mention that there were a LOT of police officers around? Through my tears I apologized more than once for causing such a commotion. He made some kind remark about it being a good time to lose a boy when there were so many police officers in my front yard and shifted his weight to the other foot as I continued to sob and hold Oliver in what must have felt like a death grip. I wondered how many hysterical mothers he had seen in his career.

When I finally made it outside again the caravan was pulling away, most of the guests were departing and there was a lot of cleaning up to do.

Another day in the life of a mom and a boy.