Do Autists Dream of Non-Verbal Sheep?

That is possibly the worst Phillip K. Dock homage ever.

Today we stated back at Social Skills therapy.  This is a therapy we did in the past and abandoned; sometimes I felt like we were molding this little creature into a reasonably convincing simulacrum of a human being.  Not an actual human being, mind you, but just something that could pass for human if you didn't look too closely. And our molding wasn't all that successful.

Social Skills therapy is a group therapy specifically targeted to work on different types of social behaviors:
reciprocal communication
greetings
following directions in a group
sharing
following the rules of games
making accommodations for others
answering questions in a group
exchanging biographical information
just existing in the same space as another person without fleeing from the stress of it all

These are skills that most children master in the process of their normal development, socialization and exposure to peers.  Autistic children often require direct instruction in these skills in order to attain some level of proficiency which will enable them to interact with their peers, develop friendships, experience the joy that can come from peer interaction and minimize the amount of social isolation they experience.

One of the silliest things about Social Skills therapy is that its usually a bunch of autistic kids being coached how to socialize.  None of them really has good social skills.  I wish they would invite some typical peers to participate and model.

Anyway, today was our first day back after about two years away.  I am really hopeful that she is in a better place now to get something out of the therapy and interaction.  When she was four the whole seemed pretty aversive; she just wanted to get away from the therapists and the other screeching, freaked-out children.  The kids today seemed more relaxed and she has hopefully she'll enjoy and learn in this setting.

Eleanor is becoming more recognizably civilized - still probably closer to rabid wolverine than William F. Buckley - but on the way to personhood .

Kid Fears

What am I afraid of?

going insane
not being a good mommy
my husband completely losing his shit because our lives are so chaotic
my husband completely losing his shit because he is going to be a corporate slave forever because I am spending all our money on therapy
wasting my life being stressed
not having any money because we squandered it all on therapy (this shit ain't cheap even if you've got good insurance coverage, which we do not.)
short-changing my other children (money, attention, enrichment)
never being able to do normal things as a family
never having a career again
not having the stamina to do this for the rest of my life
Eleanor being dependent her whole life
Eleanor being seriously disabled her whole life
Eleanor being exploited or abused or victimized because of her disability.  (Dude she can't talk right!)
all of this being my fault because I did not make the right therapeutic, educational, medical decisions for her
becoming the care-worn, scary, totally obsessed, self-denying, stage-mother-of-another-color mother of a special needs child.  (Parent support groups give me the willies because everyone there is so miserable or determinedly upbeat.  They've all been through hell.  They have scary stories you would not have even imagined.  Its a ghost of Christmas future situation that depresses me.)

She sure can pass

We had a flat tire and called for roadside assistance.  The nicest tow truck driver ever came to our rescue.  He was seriously Italian, had gorgeous black hair, a charming personality, a full compliment of chest hair and ten children (literally).  When he took the spare tire from its hidey-hole, Eleanor got agitated because clearly that is not a normal thing to do to the backseat of the minivan.  When he removed the flat from the minivan she became even more concerned.  This was unnatural.

I hastened to explain her squeaking and chanting 'no, no, no, no, no' and the tow-truck-driver-with-a-heart-of-gold told me he could tell she was autistic by the way she was acting and I was not to worry because he was entirely accustomed to such behavior since his wife worked with autistic children.

When he was done putting on the spare he told me to take good care of Eleanor and be reassured because 'she looks normal which helps.'  Indubitable wisdom.

Neurotypicals Eat Your Heart Out

Snuggling in the bed with two eggplants and the Ipad.

Betty Draper gets a bad wrap

I love Mad Men although I do think there is a good chance it completely jumped the shark in season four.  Not to say that I don't get a little dreamy-eyed whenever I hear a Mercedes Benz commercial. Naturally, I do.

There is a scene in one of the final episodes of season four that I believe is meant to be very significant.  Don Draper is in California with his young children and his secretary (whom he is schtupping, natch).  They are eating in a diner and one of the kids knocks over a milkshake and it floods the table.  Don's secretary cum paramour, Megan, briskly grabs some paper napkins and staunches the flow.  No recriminations.  No shrieking.  No daggers shooting from eyes.  Don and his kids gape at her; Betty, Don's ex-wife and mother of the children, would have flipped out over such a cataclysm as a spilled milkshake.  There is an intentional and unflattering comparison between Megan's nonchalance and Betty's brittle freak outs.   I felt this was a bit unfair Betty who is a largely unsympathetic character anyway.

Tonight the children were all a bit deranged and my husband and I were no prize-winners either.  Eleanor was wound up and giddy.  Beatrice exhausted and whiny.  Charles over-excited and napless and biting.  My husband irritable from a weekend in the bosom of his loving family.  Me frazzled and desperate for five minutes peace.  I am trying to feed the kids as quickly as possible so we can get directly to the night-night action.  This is not that easy when everyone is in a slightly frayed mental state to begin with.  At some point in the chaos, Beatrice knocks her cup off the table. Ice and water all over the place. Not a big deal, right?  Its water.  It was an accident.  Yes, I had asked her repeatedly to stop putting it on the edge of the table but these things happen.  I had to consciously stop grinding my teeth after a day full of moments like this: I could not help but think of Betty Draper.

Fine this young chippy can mop up a milkshake with a smile on her face but how pleasant is she going to be three kids from now,  chain-smoking in Ossining with Francine, while Don gets brilliant someplace else and withholds emotionally 'cause thats all the man knows?  Its enough to make anyone a bit snappy.

Previously on My Misbegotten Brood

Eleanor is now six. She is technically in first grade this year and is the height of your average eight year old. The good news is that she has made some progress with her social and communication skills. She can now:

• make choices (pretzels or m&ms),
• make requests (pretzels),
• tell us what is bothering her (sometimes),
• do minimally prompted greetings,
• follow along with her peers in a simple play activity or game that she likes (ie run around the playground in a screeching pack of feral suburban children),
• and follow multi-step directions,
• wear socks and sneakers, 
• let me cut her hair without experiencing a psychotic break,
• and be present while her father eats without breaking down.

Things that are still hard for her:

• communicating abstract concepts, past events and emotions,
• conversations/reciprocal communication (she is pretty unilateral with her communication. She talks to get stuff or actions. She does not just talk for the social reinforcement.),
• decoding words and blending to sounds to read phonetically,
• trying new foods, 
• and keeping her senses regulated.

Its about how long Elephants gestate

I took a two year hiatus to have a baby. We are now a family of five wild monkeys and only one of us has an official diagnosis.