Directive?

We were talking about the movie, Wal-E the other night and I just randomly asked, "Directive?" quoting a line from the movie and Abby responded "Classified!" without missing a beat. Here's a couple little videos of her. She loves watching these. I should take video of her watching her videos. Too cute!

The Gentle Giant: An Explanation.

I have been soooo extremely busy this past week and I don't see it slowing down anytime soon. I'm in the final weeks of school, for both me and Abby, and we are in the process of moving into our new house(!!!). So the blog postings will most likely be a bit spaced out for a while.

I thought I'd take a quick moment today to tell you where I got the name, The Gentle Giant. Giraffes are known for being very quiet animals. They don't make much noise at all despite their large size and looming presence. (Not that I live next door to one or anything. This is what I've read on signs at the zoo and what not.) So their nickname is "Gentle Giant" or "Silent Giant". Either one fits Abby's personality.


One warm morning in July 2005, I woke up suddenly feeling as though I was wetting the bed. OMG! I run to bathroom. Notice that my husband is sleeping on the couch. Maybe it's because in my final month of pregnancy, I was big enough to take up 2/3 of the small, full-sized bed we shared. Though I would find out later, it was because in my big-as-a-house state, I had also started snoring so loudly the windows shook and threatened to shatter with each snore. Anyway, back to bed I went, happy to have the whole bed to myself. Only to wake up 20 minutes later with the same bed wetting sensation. What the heck is going on?! Suddenly I realized... my water was about to break! I was in the early stages of labor!


When we arrived at the hospital and got settled into our room, we switched on the television. It had previously been left on the cable channel, Animal Planet, and we were just in time to witness a mother giraffe give birth to a sweet, little, long-legged baby. I remember thinking, how odd that as I sit here about to give birth to my own sweet, long-legged baby, I turn on the tv only to witness another mammal giving birth. I know it sounds weird, but I felt a connection to that giraffe.

(In this photo, Abby is showing me both her giraffe shirt and her "shovel"

which never leaves her hands these days.
This makes for interesting dinners, let me tell you.)

An hour or so later, I was still in labor (12.5 hours total) and in walks my older brother with a gift for the baby. A stuffed GIRAFFE! He had no idea. It was a total coincidence. But it stuck with me. And it always has. Some cultures believe in a "power animal" and I guess I've always thought that Abby's "power animal" was a giraffe. It's only proven to fit her personality more and more over the years. With her lack of communication reminding me of the quiet giraffe and her loud screams and demanding presence reminiscent of the giraffe's 'giant' stature. It will be interesting to watch over the coming years.

And so... there you have it. Abby the Gentle Giant.

Like Mother Like Daughter

I was asked last weekend by a blogger friend how my upbringing influences the way I parent my children. I thought it was a great question that would make for a great blog posting. Especially since it was so close to Mother's Day. I thought about it and thought about it, but everything that came to mind was sounding so cliche and very "Hallmark Card"-ish. I wanted my blog to be genuine and honest. As usual.

(wearing Grandma's rollers)

The last couple of days in our house have been a bit rough. My 18-month old son, Bean (his nickname) has had a pretty nasty cold. He's been waking up during the night with a hacking cough and just not feeling good in general. Since he shares a room with Abby, she hasn't been sleeping very soundly either and this has not made for a very happy camper in the waking hours. Really it's been an unhappy camping party as no one in the house has been sleeping very well.

Last night I reached a breaking point. I've been so busy with school and life in general that I've fallen behind in one of my classes. I'm a good student and this is just plain unacceptable for me. I was in the midst of trying to download software that was crucial to getting caught up in this class and that would allow me to spend more time at home. The kids were entertained and doing fine, but then I had to get into the closet where the dreaded vacuum cleaner is stored. Dun-dun-duuuunnnnn!!!

(Christmas at Grandma D's)

Abby hates the vacuum. I'll admit we put off using it because of this, but when we finally do break-down and vacuum the floors, Abby usually hides in her bedroom, in her bed with her Blankie-Snuggle and her music turned way up. Even with all of her comfort scenarios in place, she usually screams and cries (loudly) until the vacuum is put away. Not just turned off. "Put away!" The cord has to be tightly wound, the vacuum in it's place in the closet and the closet door tightly shut. Even after she has made sure this has all taken place, she still mutters softly to herself over and over again, "All done. All done. All done. All done. All done."

So back to my story. I had to get into the dreaded closet. (Dun-dun-duuuuunnnnn!) And despite my many assurances that I was not vacuuming, Abby was screaming and screaming and screaming! I should have just said some soothing words and let it go, but for whatever reason, I was so annoyed that she wasn't listening to me, that I let it get the best of me.

(cooking with Grandma)

I yelled. I swore. I slammed doors. I bawled my eyes out.
It was not one of my most proud parenting moments.

So what does this have to do with Mother's day and my dear Mother? Sometimes my mom lost it, too. Minus the swearing part, I reminded myself of my mom last night. She was a single mom. She worked 40+ hours per week and struggled to make ends meet. We were typical kids.

She'd get home from work around 4:30 and walk in to a messy house that had been clean when she left it.
We didn't have our homework done and we'd spent the afternoon filling up on cereal and cookies, instead of saving our appetites for the healthy meal she planned to prepare.
Then we'd complain about the dinner she did make and hound her at every turn,
"Mom... mom... mom!"
I remember standing in the doorway of the bathroom once as she yelled at me,
"Can't I even go to the BATHROOM without an audience?!!!"
And every couple of months, she'd reach her breaking point and we'd all have to endure a fun-filled evening of yelling and inevitably, crying.

I don't look back on these memories with anything other than understanding and compassion. My mom was a great mom! She worked hard and when we repaid her hard work with typical childish thoughtlessness, she let us know how ungrateful we were in the only way she knew how. I'm sure she would have judged herself harshly for letting those moments get the best of her, but I learned a very important lesson during those times.

(In case you've ever wondered what I'll look like when I'm 50)

I learned that my mom was human.
That she wasn't perfect.
That she had feelings.
That being a grown-up was hard and to be thankful that I was still a kid.
I learned that I needed to help my mom out around the house,
because she was doing the job of two parents.
But it would be years before I truly understood just how hard her life was during those years. And because I'm blessed to have an understanding and helpful husband, I don't think I'll ever truly grasp the challenges that she faced.

Usually at the end of one of "those" nights we'd all end up hugging and apologizing for our bad behavior. My mother included. She'd apologize for losing her cool. We'd apologize for being ungrateful kids. And we'd all end up loving each other just a little bit more.

(2 of 3 ungrateful-turned-grateful-children with their amazing mom)

This does not excuse my bad behavior last night. Abby is not an ungrateful child. She is an Autistic kid who is terribly frightened of the vacuum cleaner. I should have been understanding and patient, but I wasn't. So I took a cue from my mom. I apologized to Abby for yelling at her. I hugged her. I kissed her. I vowed to try better next time. My loving and patient husband also had a talk with her and Abby came to me with hugs and kisses and apologized for not listening and screaming when I was trying to reassure her.

I hope that someday when Abby is an adult, that she'll look back on times like last night and recognize that I was human. That I made mistakes, but that I loved her the best way I knew how. And when I didn't do my best, that I turned around and tried to do better. I hope she loves and respects me as much as I love and respect my mom. She wasn't perfect, but she always tried to improve herself and in the long run I think she did a pretty darn good job.

(Doing Grandma's dishes. Something I was never very good at doing.)

Every Now and Again...

Abby needed a bath last night and I was not in the mood to do bath time. So I thought she could just jump in the shower, play for a few minutes, I'd wash her hair and she'd jump out. She has done this many, many times over the course of her life.


So last night, I told Abby that I was going to go run a shower for her.
"No!" she yelled.
"Yeah." I said, "It will be fun. You haven't had a shower for while. It will be quick."
"No!" she yelled, a bit more emphatically this time.

Me being just as persistent as she is, went ahead and ran a shower anyway. There was a time when she preferred the shower over the bath and I assumed that once she was in there, she'd get over it and take her shower.

I was wrong.


She screamed all the way to the bathroom and once I put her in the shower, she screamed some more. Screamed and screamed and screamed as she clawed at the shower curtain trying to find a way out, screamed as she jumped out and ran screaming naked and dripping wet through the house. Screaming long after I said, "Ok, ok! You don't have to take a shower! It's ok, Abby! ABBY! IT'S OK! YOU DON'T HAVE TO TAKE A SHOWER! ABBBYYYYY! IT'S OK!"

Jeeze, Louise.

Screaming, screaming, screaming. It had been a while since she'd had a scream-fest like that. Let's hope it's a long while before we see another.


After a nice relaxing BATH, dried off and dressed in clean pj's, Abby sat quietly watching the latest DVR'd "Super Why" while I did her hair. She let me put it in 5 tight little buns to sleep in overnight, so she could have curly hair the next day. I'm always surprised by the intricate hair styles she lets me do. There are many quote/unquote "normal" kids her age who would NEVER let their parents do the buns, braids and ponytail styles that Abby lets me do. As I sat parting, combing and twisting her soft hair, I was reminded of another scream-fest we'd had when she was two.

Abby's hair was getting long and was constantly in her eyes. I thought of cutting it into a cute little pixie cut, but couldn't imagine the wrath she would bring on anyone coming near her head with scissors. I didn't figure that would be safe for her or for the stylist wielding those scissors. So I opted to go with barrettes and pony holders. But even those simple devices were regarded with extreme contempt. Whenever I tried to snap a simple butterfly shaped barrette into her hair, she reacted as if I was shoving thumb tacks into her skull. She would scream and rip it out taking a clump of hair with it.

(Notice the "Quiet" face posted in the middle of the mirror as a constant reminder)

Ok, so why force the issue, right? Right. I'm with you. Except that the only thing that would make her more crazy than her mother trying to put barrettes in her hair, was hair in her mouth. This would make her gag and scream and throw herself on the floor and scream some more. (Have I mentioned screaming in this post?) So after months of wrestling with this issue, I decide after one particularly "fun" screaming/gagging/hair-in-the-mouth session, that she was going to wear barrettes. Period.

I took 20 deep breaths, muttered some prayers for patience and persistence on my part, and gently (or not so gently) told Abby that she was going to wear barrettes that day, and if she took them out, I would put them back in, and if she took them out again, I would put them back in, and if she took them out... well you get the idea.


And I did. She screamed, I put the barrettes in, she ripped them out, screaming all the while, and I would put them back. This went on for about 15 minutes until she was sweaty and exhausted (so was I). I finally put her barrettes back in, pulled her up onto my lap with her blankie-snuggle and pacifier, and whispered softly in her ear,

"It's ok, see. Feel the barrettes in your hair. They don't hurt, do they? They will keep your hair out of your mouth. Mamma wouldn't do anything to hurt you, Abby. We're going to put barrettes in every day, so the hair stays out of your eyes and your mouth."

She settled down and literally to this day, has let me do her hair ever since, and rarely complains. I felt sooo bad that day, but I know Abby's temperament. Sometimes she needs to be forced to try new things. I try to let her make her own choices, but every now and again, she needs a little push.


Now let me say again that I felt terrible. I hate forcing her to do things. I question myself at every turn. Was that the right thing to do or the right way to do it?! Well this is one example of not liking the process, but appreciating the outcome.

After watching me get my last hair cut, Abby announced, "Abby's turn!" She wants a hair cut, so I think she's ready for her first trim. Maybe we'll make a day of it for her 4th birthday.

It's a Privilege!

Since starting school in January, Abby's behavior and general happiness levels have improved so much. Not that she was a miserable kid before, she just had so many more behavior outbursts, so one could assume that she wasn't as happy. School has been a Godsend! She attends Early Childhood Special Education (ECSE) and LOVES it. The bus drivers comment often on what a pleasure it is to pick her up in the morning, because she always has a smile on her face and a happy squeal to greet them.


Well this morning was unlike any morning we've had since she's started school. She fought me at every turn this morning. I always try to give her 10- and 5-minute warnings as we go along. I've found that if she knows what to expect, she is more cooperative when the time comes to perform a task.

"Abby, it's almost time to get dressed. Just a few more minutes." I said.
"NO! I want to sit on the couch and watch tv!" she screamed.

What? Where did this come from?!


"Abby, it's time to get dressed." I said.
"NOOOOO!!!" she screamed, throwing her toy across the room and herself on the floor.
"It's time to get dressed. 1..... 2..... 3." I said, taking a deep breath.

The 1-2-3 count works like a charm in our house. It's as if it has some magnetic pull and resistance is futile. Back when the 1-2-3 method was first introduced in our house, if Abby didn't come at the count of "3" I went and got her. There was no "3.5" or "4". For instance, if I say "3" and she isn't standing in front of me, that means that I am going over immediately, picking her up and dressing her. End of story. With proper execution, the 1-2-3 count can be brilliant!

So back to this morning. She screamed "NOOOO!!!" at every menial task that must be done in the morning. You can imagine that how much fun I was having. (Perhaps now would be a good time to let you know that I am fluent in sarcasm.)

Now I'm used to Abby not wanting to do what she is told, but usually she can be talked into it knowing that school is the reward. But today, and it broke my heart, as I was putting on her jacket, she looked up at me with tear filled eyes and without screaming (for the first time this morning) said, "Wanna stay home." Ugh! I wanted to keep her home with me and snuggle on the couch watching cartoons all day! But instead I said, "Honey, you GET to go to school! School is a privilege. It will be so much fun. All of your friends are there."

This is my new thing. School is a privilege. It's not something we have to do. It's something we GET to do. How fortunate are we in this country?!! Sure, I can gripe about the quality of our schools (cough-Idaho-cough) but we get to go to school. And it's even more spectacular that Abby gets to go to school. There are plenty of countries where girls aren't allowed to go to school, let alone a little girl with special needs. We are really and truly blessed.


I'm so thankful for Abby's teachers and her school. I'm confident that Abby will have a bright future, with teachers and teacher's assistants along the way who care for her and care about her education. And I will be there every step of the way, reminding her of the privilege she is blessed with, and reminding them of the importance of their job and how much they are appreciated.

Now let me remind you that I am not a perfect parent. I lost my cool once this morning and told her to "shut up" rather than "be quiet" during a particularly aggravating scream.
Most of the morning, what I was really tempted to say yell was,
"Shut up and quit yer screamin'!
Get your butt dressed and get on that bus!
Mommies' got a nap to take and a blog to write!"
But I tried really, really hard to use encouraging words.
And this morning, I did a pretty good job.

In the end, so did Abby. She whined a little bit when she saw the bus, but she sucked it up and had a smile for the bus driver.

I hope she has a good day at school.

Communication Breakdown

"The most important thing in communication is to hear what isn't being said."
~Peter Drucker (1909 - 2005)

One of the many roadblocks we faced when trying to
"diagnose" Abby's autism, was that she talked.
Kind of.
And the two main symptoms of Autism that people/pediatricians focus on is eye contact and speech. Abby participated in both of these things, so people were quick to dismiss our fears.

Abby actually has a pretty large vocabulary. The problem lies not in her inability to talk. The problem lies in her difficulty to communicate using those words. Until starting school this past January, she mostly engaged in what is known as Echolalia. As defined by Wikipedia,

"Echolalia is the repetition of vocalizations made by another person. Echolalia can be present in autism ... Asperger syndrome, Alzheimer's Disease and, occasionally, other forms of psychopathology. It is also frequently found in blind or visually impaired children, although most will outgrow this behavior. When done involuntarily, echolalia may be considered a tic."

It was very frustrating to know that your child CAN speak, but not to understand why she "chooses" to scream rather than use the words you know she has in her vocabulary. I remember many a time losing my patience and sometimes my temper over what seemed like her refusal to use the words she knew. Instead of asking for her drink or for the crayon she just dropped, she would scream and throw a fit. Then when I would ask, "Do you want your crayon?" She would repeat, "Want your crayon?"


Because I didn't know about Echolalia, I viewed this as Abby's refusal to use words. I would insist as she was throwing tantrums that she "use her words" before I would "give in" to her tantrum. Well this helped nothing. It only made the tantrum worse. Because what I didn't understand was that she might know how to say the words, but she didn't understand how to communicate her wants and needs using those words.

I look back on those times that I lost my patience with her, wishing I could go back knowing what I know now. I wish I could go back and be the patient and loving mother that I always wanted to be. Not the mom who had been screamed at ALL.DAY.LONG. by the little girl with the giant scream and the mom whose patience had worn very thin. I feel badly for the sweet little girl trying to communicate to a mother who had not yet learned to "hear what wasn't being said." I still fail miserably at this some days. But thankfully, those days are few and farther apart now. I can only move forward and do better tomorrow than I did today.

This morning I was treated to a rare gift. My husband let me sleep in until 10 am!!! It was wonderful. When I finally did wake up, Abby was seated at the table, coloring in a notebook with colored pencils. She said to me, "Hi, Mom! Want to color? Come sit down in the seat." as she pointed to the dining chair next to her. She didn't scream at me once. When I complimented her on her excellent choice of words, she smiled and said, "Come on, Mom! Let's color!"

I cannot express to you how proud and thankful I am to have heard those sentences from her today. I'm crying now as I type these last words. The relief I feel at knowing that it's possible! By being patient and looking to understand what it is that Abby is trying to communicate when she doesn't use words, she is finding her voice and finally, finally learning to communicate. This makes each scream a little more tolerable and thankfully, like my least proud parenting moments, those screams are becoming fewer and farther apart.

There is hope. Always hope.

Abby-bird gets the Worm

We all woke up late this morning and sure enough, here we are running late and Abby climbs into bed with me for a snuggle. I learned a long time ago that when Abby decides she wants to snuggle, you had better take her up on the offer, because it could be a while before you get the opportunity again. She was so sweet pushing her nose against mine and looking into my eyes for a few moments, before she'd look away and giggle. From what I understand about Autism, this is a rare occurrence and yet I am fortunate that Abby seems to regard it as a sort of game she plays with me. These are some of my favorite moments.


It was actually a miraculous morning. Generally when we are in a hurry, Abby fights me at every turn. She is a creature of habit and she does not like to be rushed. Who does? But this morning she cooperated in every way and not only did we get outside to meet the bus on-time, but we were early enough that I was able to snap a few photos while we waited.


I often take my camera outside to wait for the bus. You never know what will present itself for a photo. I was focusing in on the new green growth that the previously naked tree was displaying, not paying much attention as Abby searched the ground beside me for new dead leaves to smuggle into the house.


I heard her talking away about something and when I finally looked, she held her hand up to me and said, "The worm is wiggling! It's so cute!"


This is my little girl who FREAKS out when anything sticky, slimy or dirty is on her hands. They've been gardening at school and her teachers have said that she likes the lessons, but does not like getting her hands dirty. And here she is holding a WORM up to me telling me how "cute" it is. She surprises me daily. In this case, I think it's the cutest bird who gets the worm.