Learning from Donald Triplett

I wanted to write about what we can learn about autism from the life of Donald Triplett as detailed in the recent article in the Atlantic Magazine. Triplett was the first person ever to be diagnosed with autism, and if you haven't read the article: do! The man defied expectations and, in many ways, probably defines hope for many parents of autistic children today. There is also a wonderful video segment on the website. But rather than write the post I had in mind, I'll link instead to a marvelously insightful one written by one of my favorite bloggers. And if you aren't familiar with Emily's blog: A life less ordinary?, you'll probably want to visit when you've got enough time to pull up a chair and read awhile. Without fail, Emily manages to write concise and thought-provoking posts about timely subject --  the one linked to here is no exception.

Why I can't even put a decent post together

I cannot tell you how glad I am that garden season is almost over. I am exhausted. I already called it quits for the season. But then for some pathological reason I brought home a half bushel of sweet red peppers and eight pounds of green beans. We WILL have pickled beans and roasted peppers all winter even if my husband is seriously considering an intervention for me over my compulsion to preserve vegetables. And I don't even want to tell you about the pumpkins, Charlie Brown! So, if I haven't responded to your e-mails? If I haven't sent you that money I owe you? If I haven't sent you that box full of baby stuff that is all packed and sitting by the front door? (But it's coming this week, I promise!!) Well, please don't think badly of me. I have a serious vegetable habit that I'm trying to kick.

But, there ARE a few things happening here that are unrelated to the vegetables:

1. Sami's new school rocks! It is a Sudbury-type school with about ten students ranging in age between 5 and 11. I love watching the kids plan, create, negotiate, debate and just plain have fun. (All these things, by the way, I would have totally taken for granted if not for Oliver's autism because these are the very things that don't come easily to my boy. Watching it happen naturally, easily, it just blows me away.) Every Monday there is a circus class and Sami is thrilled to learn how to juggle, which is very funny because pre-, pre-school he somehow got it into his head that one learned how to juggle in school. Go to school. Learn to juggle. That's just the way it worked in Sami-land. And Lo and Behold!: a circus class! So awesome!

2. I have decided that I can no longer really, truly say that Oliver is non-verbal. I finally feel like I can have a kind of, sort of, conversation with my boy. It seems like kind of a funny thing to put waaaay down here in the post -- it is a such a Grand Statement, isn't it? -- but it has been happening so gradually over the course of this year that it doesn't feel like such a huge Ta-dah! kind of announcement. But definitely an awesome for the Oliver column! Of course, I feel the need to qualify this a bit: we still have a loooong way to go. I would love it if Oliver was able to offer a comment or ask a question. But he can answer questions, tell me how he is feeling, and let me know what he wants. Plus, his echolalia is skyrocketing and I finally feel much more secure that we will get there someday -- which is an awesome in the Mama category.

3. Resident Teenager (RT) has moved in with us full-time. Life is a roller-coaster that ends in squeals of delight every evening when two little boys are tucked into bed by the biggest boy -- an awesome for the entire house o' boys!

That is all for tonight. Dilly Beans are cooling, peppers are roasted and I've hung up my apron for the season.

I hope.

The plum was very vile on the second day of school

Sami started school yesterday and had three major meltdowns over the course of the next twelve hours. I'm not used to my kids having meltdowns. Normally both are go-with-the-flow kind of boys. At first I was a little put out: what is wrong with this kid? But being five is hard. Starting a new school, a new routine? It's hard. Learning to negotiate with a whole roomful of new people? Hard, hard, hard. And truth be told, I sometimes forget that Sami is only five. His language and his thought processes are pretty sophisticated. He's the kid who sits down to do something and immediately starts talking objectives and strategies. But he is still such a little boy, after all. And though he is ready to step away from me, into this wide, exciting world, I remind myself that it takes a lot of courage to chart a new orbit, one that that takes him so much further into the unknown.

So apparently all the extra energy he spent at school yesterday meant that he didn't have the emotional reserves to deal with the fact that I asked him to find his socks or to discover that, say, a vile plum was packed in his lunch box for the second day of school.

Plums have been banned from the lunch box for good. Because when you're going off into a new orbit for the first time you should be sustained by the fruit of your choice.

Why I'm glad my friends are so insightful

Recently a friend and former teacher came to visit just as I was putting away the homeschool lesson for the day. Oliver and I had been working hard on one-to-one correspondence for a number of weeks and still, he wasn't getting it. I was having a hard time not being frustrated, mindful that I can't teach effectively once I start in with the pessimism: "He's NEVER going to get it!" But still, after trying everything I could think of to get the concept across I felt myself heading in that direction. Dangerous territory for the whole family! I said as much to my friend and her reply startled me with its clarity. In essence she said: "Then put it away. If you are trying so hard and he isn't getting it then he isn't ready. Do something else for awhile and come back to it. He'll get it eventually but don't make yourself -- or him -- crazy." I think I really needed for someone to say this to me because taking the long view of things often gives us such needed perspective.

Her advice made a lot of sense to me and it is something that I practice regularly with Sami without even thinking about it. You know, with Sami it is pretty easy to trust in the developmental process. Not ready to potty train? Fine. Let's give it some time. Tying your shoes? Reading? Who cares! We'll try again in a couple of weeks. And really, it has been as easy -- as not worrisome -- as that.  With Oliver, however, trusting in the developmental process hasn't been so worry-free. But after years and years of mothering Oliver you would think that I might be just a tiny bit more relaxed about it. After all, I've seen astonishing growth in my boy. I've seen his plateaus followed by bursts of development over and over again. I spend a lot of time being amazed by him. He and Sami just have a different rhythm to their forward momentum.

So we abandoned our lessons for awhile. I still incorporated numbers and counting into everything we did but I didn't try to sit down with him and match numbers with quantities again. Until today. Today was Sami's first day of school and so I figured it might be a good time to break out the numbers and counters again. And do you know what? It was like he had been doing it all along. He still had trouble remembering some of the names of the numbers, thanks to his aphasia, but he very clearly matched them with quantities. And each time he counted out the right quantity he proudly turned to me and said: "You did it!"

"No," I reminded him: "YOU did it!"

A couple of nights ago I listened to a speaker who reminded the audience that we cannot "pour language into our kids." This has kind of stuck with me because I like the image and because it is so true for just about everything. I mean, as much as we might like to, we can't pour anything into our kids (and here I'm also thinking about Resident Teenager!). Language, development, learning, reason. ... these are things that our children have to come by naturally through the course of living. What we can do is support them (with the right environment and teachers and all that), pay attention to their own individual rhythms, create lots of learning opportunities, and find a way to trust in the process.

And sometimes, I remind myself, the process of living and learning can even stretch well into a person's fortieth year!