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Thursday, December 13, 2012

Mugged by Sound

It's not easy being the parent of a special needs child. I know because at the end of kindergarten, my oldest child was diagnosed with Asperger's, which is on the autism spectrum.

Asperger's is tough in its own special way. My son's biggest challenge is interacting socially because he has difficulty interpreting facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice and even understand what other people are thinking. He's actually a very kind child, but he can seem insensitive (or even snotty) because he doesn't always respond to social situations correctly. Sensory input is another huge challenge for him. Not only is he a synesthete, but a sensory processing disorder was part of his diagnosis. So for him, the world is one loud, bright, mixed-up source of chaos. He spent two-thirds of kindergarten  in a ball under his desk because he was constantly overloaded by sounds. Five years later, he's made a lot of progress, but he still has a rough time in school.

As a mom, my heart hurts when I see him struggling, but I haven't been without my share of issues, too. For me, one of the toughest things to do was learning how to ignore what other adults think of me. They see my kid in total meltdown under a table or saying something that seems mean, and then they glance at me. In their eyes, I see the quick assessment of my total lack of parenting skills and the swift ensuing judgement. Truthfully, it can be more than a little embarrassing at times.

It would be easier in some ways -- people would be more sympathetic anyway-- if my child was obviously different, if he had Down's Syndrome or a physical handicap. But he doesn't. In fact, most people never guess that's he's on the spectrum because he's bright and funny and frequently shows some profound insights into situations. He's a little uncoordinated, but not so much so that one would notice.

In fact, to the casual observer, my boy appears perfectly normal. But I can tell that he's wired differently. For instance, a few months ago, a kid came running up to my son, waving his arms and yelling his name. A "normal" child would be able to tell that this kid was excited and friendly. My boy responded by freezing and reprimanding him. "You don't have to be so loud," he stated. It's instances like this in which, even though my son doesn't register the reaction, I see the startled, shut-out look on his friend's face. I see the other parents' faces as they wonder why my kid is such a snot. I know he doesn't even realize that he's misinterpreted the situation or responded incorrectly. I know I have to draw him aside (yet again) and explain what just happened. And my heart hurts for him. And it steels itself against the reproof I see in other people's eyes. But in the end, I've learned that I really don't care about them or what they think of him or me. I only have to love my child.

So recently, NPR posted this video called Mugged by Sound, Rescued by a Waitress. It's part of a project called Interacting with Autism. I wanted to share it because it touched me deeply. Watching this, I saw my boy. I don't know who made this animation, but he captured my child down to the last mannerism.




Sensory Overload (Interacting with Autism Project) from Miguel Jiron on Vimeo.

My favorite part of this video is the waitress who comes alongside this boy and doesn't say a word. She doesn't touch him, doesn't try to "help." She doesn't add to the noise but just lets him be. I wish I had a penny for every time I've told people to just leave my kid alone and he'll come around. So it moved me to see that some other person gets it.

In any case, I wanted to share this because I think it provides a terrific insight for people that have a relationship with a child (or adult) on the spectrum.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Happy

Scrolling through Netflix at 4AM this morning (not that I wanted to be up, just couldn't sleep), I noticed a film called Happy.  Its description read:

Happy takes viewers on a journey from the swamps of Louisiana to the slums of Kolkata in search of what really makes people happy. Combining real-life stories and scientific interviews, the film explores the secrets behind our most valued emotion.

It sounded fascinating. Then I skipped it so I could catch up on Doc Martin. But the idea of the movie has stayed with me all day. What makes my family happy?

Knowing how hungry my boys are when they get home from school, I made some pretzels this afternoon. As soon as they found out, my little one started a happy dance. Even the older, "cooler" one threw his image aside, jumped into my arms, and plastered me with kisses. He exclaimed, "My day was horrible until I came home!"

So this was the answer to the question I'd been pondering all day. In our house, happiness is a little bit of flour, yeast, and water.

Assistant baker hard at work

To share our happiness with you, here is the recipe I used.

Soft Pretzels (makes 18 pretzels)

  •  1 Tbsp yeast 
  •  1 1/2 c Warm water 
  •  2 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
  •  1 1/4 cups whole wheat flour 
  •  3 Tbsp canola oil 
  •  1 1/2 Tbsp Honey 
  •  6 Tbsp baking soda; in 6 cups water 
  •  pretzel salt; optional 

In a stand mixer, combine yeast, warm water, flours, oil, and honey. Using a dough hook, mix for about 5 minutes until you have a soft, smooth dough.

Place dough in a greased bowl; turn over to grease top. Cover and let rise in a warm place until double (about 1 hour).

When the dough is almost done rising, line two baking trays with parchment paper. Lightly oil/grease the paper. Set trays aside.

When the dough has doubled, punch down dough, turn out onto a floured board,and divide into 18 pieces. Then roll each piece into a smooth rope about 12-18 inches long (depending on how thick you like them), and twist into a pretzel shape. Place pretzels slightly apart on baking sheets. Let rise, uncovered,until puffy (about 25 minutes).

Meanwhile, in a 3-quart stainless steel or enameled pan (not aluminum), bring soda water to a boil; adjust water to keep water boiling gently. With a slotted spatula, lower 1 pretzel at a time into pan. Let simmer for 10 seconds on each side, then lift from water, drain briefly on spatula, and return to baking sheet. Let dry briefly, then sprinkle with coarse salt if desired. Let stand uncovered until all have simmered.

Bake in a preheated 425 degree oven for 12 to 15 minutes or until golden brown. Transfer to racks; serve warm with butter or mustard.

We always seem to run out of pretzels immediately, but if you can't eat all of yours right away, you can cool them completely, wrap airtight, and freeze. To reheat, place frozen pretzel on ungreased baking sheets and bake in a preheated 400 degree oven for about 10 minutes or until hot.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Why I Like Being the Mother of Boys

A few days ago, my younger son announced, "When I grow up, I'm going to have 3 kids. I'm going to have 2 girls and a boy. If I have 2 boys and a girl, I'm screwed."

I don't particularly approve of his word choice, but I had to laugh.

My son has perceived a truth, though. There is something different about boys. I don't mean that boys and girls can't enjoy the same activities. My boys love decorating cookies, and my girl is showing every sign of becoming a daredevil. However, there is something just fundamentally different about the manner in which the boys approach life. This became very clear to me last winter during a ski club meeting. My friend's two daughters were sitting quietly on a bench, efficiently donning their ski equipment, chit chatting about their favorite stuff. Meanwhile, my boys were yelling, "Hey, I have my helmet on -- Hit me in the head!" "Ok, now you hit me in the head!" "Ha, ha! Your turn! Hit me in the head!" "Harder!" The girls just stared at them like they were from Mars.

Even though boys act physically wilder and rougher than girls, there is something that is also sweeter and more tender about them, too. Boys aren't emotionally manipulative. They might be more than happy to fight something out, but they're direct and honest. None of the cattiness or Machiavellian antics that I've watched girls -- even nice girls -- pull.

I think my favorite part of having boys is seeing the way they take care of me. When my older son was about 7, we were playing frisbee, and it kept going into the woods where there were lots of raspberry canes. After seeing me get tangled up in the thorns, my son said, "Oh, no, mom, I'll get it. I don't want you to get scratched!" It was such a sweet gesture from a small boy, but they're protective like that. They're always trying to save me from dangers like brambles and bugs and heights. In their efforts to shield me, I see the budding of men who will watch over their wives and children. It makes me happy and proud.
It's not that I don't love and enjoy my daughter. She's special for different reasons. However, for the record, I just wanted to say that having 2 boys and a girl is not the end of the world. Far from feeling "screwed," I wouldn't have it any other way.

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