Self Portrait. by Oliver

The boy can wear orange like nobody I know!

Sometimes it balances out in the end

Today was an awesome, incredible day.

I feel I can say this with assurance because I have yesterday to compare it to, which was decidedly not awesome. Yesterday being a day when I was trapped in a local department store -- at the mall -- for a half hour with an incredibly dysregulated boy while we waited for his brother to get a haircut. And the only reason I found myself inclined to enter the purgatory of the mall is because I'm too cheap to pay for a haircut for my boys and this particular store was offering free haircuts to kids through the month of August. And, because Sami is now -- ahem -- gainfully employed (finally pulling his weight), I had to do something about his hair. And to the lady behind the reception desk who looked at me with the evil eye? C'mon. I apologized for the mess those papers from your desk made when they landed on the floor and maybe by next August when we visit your establishment again you'll have found your sense of humor. Otherwise you might lose us altogether.

He's wearing that cap to hide all the wild red hair.

But Today! Today was awesome!! (Incidentally, isn't it funny how 90 really bad minutes in a day can make you feel like giving up altogether and that 90 totally awesome minutes can make you feel energized and ready to look for more challenges to tackle? Thank goodness life balances out like that.)

Today we started talking in earnest about ancient Greece. I was actually surprised by how much the boys already knew -- like Greece is where they speak Greek! But also that it is on the Mediterranean and that it is part of the European Union. And, as Oliver pointed out, the ancient Greeks loved math and gave lots of unique properties to numbers. For instance, the color of the number one was considered to be red. We had talked about all of this in relation to the myths we are reading and the history of number systems, so technically I shouldn't be surprised -- but, you know, they were paying attention and they are interested and that thrills me to no end!

It was Sami's idea to map everything we know and, as usual, I just do what he tells me.

Then, to totally make my day, I asked them if they knew what B.C. meant and, although Sami didn't know, Oliver wrote: "Before Christ". So naturally I asked him how he knew that and he said "I remember from when we learned about the Mayans."

Yeah. So last winter we took a trip to Mexico and in preparation we read a lot about the ancient Mayans. At the time, of course, I had no idea what Oliver was taking in -- this was before he could really communicate -- but he was always there, apparently taking everything in. I don't know why this kind of stuff still amazes me but it does.

Everything was already broken when we got there. Honest!

Then, after almost an hour of talking about Greek civilization I thought they must be getting tired so I suggested that we pick another subject to work on and Sami said: "No, that's ok, this is really interesting." (and that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is why I love homeschooling!) I asked Oliver and he agreed.

So, yeah. Today was totally awesome, incredible. And I hope I won't have to pay for it in the balance of things until at least sometime next week.

Reading in Pictures

I sometimes wonder -- and worry -- about how I represent Oliver in this blog. Oliver has autism and
that fact is a central part of who he is. But when I relate to Oliver, when I parent him, and when I write about him, I hope I emphasize his humanity above his autism. So sometimes I wonder if someone reading this blog would recognize Oliver upon meeting him. Would they be surprised by how very much autism affects our boy and us, his family? Or would they be surprised by, well, how normal we are? Because both are certainly true.

For example, I wonder if it would surprise someone to know that occupying and monitoring Oliver is a full-time job. The iPad has been a tremendous, wonderful gift to our family because it is something that engages our boy and so I can give it to him for a half hour and know that I can read the paper or make a cup of coffee. But there are very few other activities that engage Oliver in the same way. So a lot of my time is spent doing things with the boy.  There is a lot of good in this, of course, but sometimes, what I wouldn't give for him to have the ability to get completely lost in a book or a movie. So that's part of the context behind the conversation I'm about to relate. The other part is simply that I'd like to understand better how high the hurdle is before us.

Here's the conversation:
Me: Oliver, I would love it if you could sit and read a book every now and then.
Oliver: I can read.
Me: I know you can read and I'm so proud of you, Oliver. I just think you would enjoy reading stories to yourself. Do you think you might like to do that?
Oliver: No.
Me: Why not?
Oliver: Because it is too hard. 
Me: Do you think it is easier when I read the stories to you?
Oliver: Yes
Me: What if I got you recordings of books? That way you could listen to the stories.
Oliver: OK.
Me: Do you like to listen to the recording of poems that I've been playing?
Oliver: Yes.
Me: Do you have a favorite?
Oliver: Yes. I like the one about the woods.
Me: I'm not sure I know which one you mean. Do you know the author?
Oliver. Yes. Robert Frost.
Me: Oliver, do you think you could try to tell me again why reading a book is so hard? It seems like it is easy for you when I ask you to read a page or two. You can read about 10 times faster than I do!!! I'd love to understand why a book seems so hard.
Oliver: Because I have to make pictures and then read them. It's too hard when there is a whole book.
Me: Do you keep those pictures in your head or do you forget them.
Oliver: I forget them.
Me: But you told me this morning all about matter and we looked at those pages weeks ago.
Oliver: Because those pictures are still in my brain.

I've had some version of this conversation with Oliver at least three times. It seems that he somehow captures an image of the page first and then decodes it? I'm not quite sure I understand. What is clear, I think, is that he is reading the whole rather than the parts. And when I say "clear," I mean that I can barely conceptualize how this works for him.

Thoughts? Ideas? Anyone?

Oliver - in his own words.

I've been working on some writing prompts with the kids, gearing up for the creative writing class I'm organizing with our homeschool co-op starting next month. I'm trying to make the prompts fun, things that might appeal to young boys: How would you outsmart a groundhog that was after your prize tomato? and How would you get a dragon out from under your bed? then, What would you do if you got to spend a day with a dragon? It has been fun -- and enlightening -- to read what the boys come up with. And our discussions about imagination often lead into the next subject of our day: science. I really, really love watching the kids make these connections. And Oliver, for his part, is much more of an active participant in our discussions than I ever imagined possible. It is breath-taking to think of how much has changed for him, for us, in just a few short months. I love sitting down for "school" with him every day and I think he does, too.

Yesterday, I had not come up with an exciting writing prompt, so I simply asked Oliver to tell me about himself. This is what he wrote:

"My name is Oliver. I will be ten years old on Saturday. I have autism. That means that I have a hard time making friends and that some more things are hard. Like talking. My brain works different from yours. I am really good at riding my bike, spelling, and math. I like to swim in the ocean. I have a brother named Sami and a brother named Luke."

He forgot to include that he is easy to love and has an incredibly beautiful smile and that he inspires me every single day.

If I had a camera - Our day in pictures

Today was the first day of school in our district. I woke to the sound of kids on the sidewalk outside making their way to the bus stop or the elementary school up the street. My would-be second-grader was curled up next to me. Oliver was sound asleep in the next room, having been up for a couple of hours during the night. Our house was cool and peaceful and quiet. Later, a handful of my friends posted first day of school photos and I thought of posting our own school pictures: Oliver, curled up inside his closet with the iPad and Sami stretched across his bed with a copy of Asterix (in German!). Later, I thought, I might like to take a picture of Oliver standing at his window, playing absently with the cord to the blind and Sami throwing darts while I read to them about how numbers came into use as people began keeping herds of animals. Still later I thought we made a fine picture on our bikes heading to the town library. And maybe I would also include a photo of Oliver playing with the water hose on the back porch during one of our many breaks. Make that many, many breaks.

Back in April when Oliver really stunned us with his breakthrough in communication I felt overwhelmed. I thought I had been teaching to his competencies. Turns out I was wrong. I wasn't even close -- and I really didn't know how to begin to figure it out. So, after we were able to replace our laptop (courtesy of a grant from our local ARC), I got busy putting together some ideas for what we will do this year in the thing like "school" that happens in our little green house. I decided not to focus on building from what he already knew (because I don't know!) but rather to begin new conversations with him about things that we both might find interesting.

We started back to our regular school routine several weeks ago (we take a long break November - February but generally go all summer). And do you know? It has been amazing. Oliver is focused and interested in a way that I've never seen him. I mean, the kid happily sits down with us and patiently writes out his thoughts. Before Oliver could communicate, I would have told you that he was aware of everything that went on around him -- but what, exactly, he was absorbing, was difficult to know. Now, I see that he understands and, indeed, soaks up everything. And, for the first time, Oliver and Sami are on the same playing field. I'm asking them to do the same things and they are equally able -- in fact, Oliver frequently knows the answer when Sami doesn't.

Our Poetry Wall

So, if you're interested, for school this yearw e're doing some standard math, using the Khan Academy (yes, I know, it isn't perfect!). But we're also doing Bedtime Math, and we'll be building these go karts. We're reading and writing poetry. The boys are flexing their imaginations with creative writing (an upcoming post on this, I promise!). We're learning about ancient Greece and Egypt. Both boys are learning to type using this wonderful website. And Sami is working on his German using Rosetta Stone. And, of course, for PE we'll be out and about on our bikes and hiking the trails we know so well.

 I feel very lucky that I can spend this time with my kids. I feel very lucky that I live in a community where I am one of many who have embraced alternative education and so I feel supported. For the first time ever, I'm excited to explore the world of ideas with both of my boys knowing that I'll be learning a thing or two myself.

Just every day ordinary with a bright and shiny boy

You know how when you're in the midst of what feels like a very hard time with your child and you temporarily forget how all kinds of awesome they are? You know, like when you have to watch your kid 24/7 or you'll end up with a mess to clean up or worse? And when your kid, who had been sleeping like a professional and who had even been yawning and going to sleep without melatonin suddenly is up until all hours of the night and keeping the rest of the household up, too?  And like when you hear the anxiety, frustration and well, sometimes anger, seeping out of you through the tone of your voice and you dislike yourself immensely? Well, it makes it kind of hard to write the blog post you want to write because those really are not the most remarkable things about your kid. They aren't the things you want to tell the world about your bright and shining boy. But sometimes you're so far down in the muck that you don't have the energy to look up and see the shining bits.

So, even though there is all that, I will tell you about the awesomeness of my boy instead because the shining bits, the ones full of grace and goodness, are the ones that make me want to write.

I'm beginning to suspect that Oliver really does remember everything he sees and hears.

Yesterday when asked by his brother if he remembered his birth, Oliver said: "I remember waiting at Gram's house. Then I saw you in Mom's room." I asked him who else was there and he got that right, too.  He was only two when Sami was born. Maybe this isn't so unusual, but I would never have guessed he remembered it. You know, because even though that was pre-diagnosis, he just seemed so out of it during those years.

And he remembers other things, too: like details of the stories of Greek mythology that I've been reading to the kids. Dates and facts about the ancient Mayans that we studied last Fall. The color of the jerseys of the teams playing in the European Cup soccer matches we watched earlier this summer. Definitions to words that he saw in the new dictionary I gave him. And, from a radio program playing in the background as we made supper a few nights ago, why mantis shrimp see way more colors than dogs, butterflies or humans. Even when it has appeared that Oliver was tuning us out, he was taking it all in. All of this surprises and delights me -- all of it.

It's been about four months now since Oliver started communicating with us, telling us what he is thinking and feeling and letting us in on what he knows. Every day with this guy feels a little like a miracle. Like a gift I unwrap layer by layer. And it's amazing how in the day-to-day that kind of gets lost. How I take it for granted that he will cross the room to sit down next to me and take the pen I'm holding so that he can answer a question or tell me something. Or to argue with me. All these things that I had almost given up hoping for have become every day, ordinary.

How often does that happen to each of us in our life?