Make It A Good One!

I am not the best housekeeper in the world. In fact, I am pretty much a sucky housekeeper. I don’t clean my house at all – I pay to have someone else come in and do it. I manage to keep the surface of things picked up pretty well, but the interiors of my cabinets, drawers, and shelves mostly have all sorts of junk stuffed in them higgledy-piggledy. My desk at work is no better, and neither is my car.

My car is probably the worst of the three, because I have no cleaning company or janitorial staff to take care of it for me or to force me to pick it up in preparation for the deeper cleaning of their visit. In fact, I am often guilty of leaving a half-empty bottle of juice, a handful of receipts, or an unwashed lunch container in my car for several days (geez, I hope it’s not weeks, but time does fly….) at a time. In my defense, though, it’s not just me: my kids help contribute to the mess by leaving candy wrappers, fast-food bags, school papers, and dirty socks in the back seat, too.

So, although it doesn’t happen all that often, it’s also not horribly unusual for me to get in my car, breathe in, and say to myself, “Whoa!! Time to clean out the car!!” Yesterday was such a day.

I picked the girls up early from school for an appointment to go get flu shots. I picked Cyd up at the high school first, and then went over to get the twins at the junior high. I parked in the visitor’s space and asked Cyd if she wanted to go in with me to get her sisters.

“How long will you be?” she asked.

“Well,” I said, “Not that long, but I’ll have to get them checked out and everything so it might be a little bit.”

Cyd decided to wait in the car.

I went into the school and walked to the attendance office. It is run by students so it’s kind of a slow, laborious process to fill out the papers, have the student look up the class, call the teacher on the loudspeaker, and repeat the process for the other twin. Then, of course, both girls are on opposite sides of the school, about as far away from the attendance office as you can get. They finally appeared, and then we had to stop by the locker to drop off books and pick up backpacks, too. So, by the time we got back out to the car, probably close to 10 or 15 minutes had lapsed.

As soon as I got in the car, I immediately noticed a rather unpleasant odor. As I prepare to pull out of the parking lot, I have my "time to clean out the car again" thought and begin mentally running through the checklist of things I may have left in my car that could be the origin of such a funky smell: hmmm, haven’t been through a fast-food drive-in for a while, didn’t take my lunch to work today, Mychael washed her gym clothes over the weekend…what could it be?

Then it dawned on me. “Cydanie,” I said, “while I was getting your sisters, did you make a fartie in Mom’s car?”

There was a long pause, and then she finally replied.

“Well,” Cyd said, “it was only one!”

So, the moral of the story is, if you’re only going to make one, make it a good one – whatever it is.

Can You Say "Stubborn?"

I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that no table slapping was required last night. The next four pages of Foods homework have been completed, and with minimal belly-achin', and we only have three left to do tonight. Woo HOO!

And because there was minimal bellyachin', Cyd earned some free time on the computer last night. Normally, she visits Pokemon websites, Cartoon Network, or You Tube to watch Sailor Moon; Pokemon; The Grimm Adventures of Billy & Mandy; or Trick My Truck episodes. Every once in awhile, though, she'll play a game - usually Pokemon related somehow.

So, though she plays her Nintendo DS every once in a while, games aren't really her "thing." Imagine my surprise, then, when last Saturday at Target, she brought me a computer game called "Cake Mania" and told me she really, really, really wanted it. It was only $10, but I was thinking that's kind of a lot of money for just a treat for no reason. But then, the twins saw it and chimed in, too. "Ooooh, Mommy, yes, yes, yes!! We love this game!! It is soooo fun!!!" they said. "Please let's buy it, OK, Mommy? OK?!?"

I figured $10 divided by 3 kids was less than $3.50 per kid, which is a more reasonable amount for a "treat." So I looked at Cyd and said, "Well, OK, but if I buy it, you have to share it with your sisters, OK?"

She looked back at me, and said in all seriousness, "Why would you want me to do that?"

We have been working on this "sharing" concept since she was 3, so I am used to explaining "why I would want her to do that." So I explained it to her once more: the game was $10, and it was kind of a lot of money, so if I was going to buy it, then it had to be for all the girls, not just her. That way all the kids could play with it and enjoy it, and not just her.

"But I don't want to share it!" she whined. Really? I hadn't guessed!! But sarcasm is lost on her.

So instead I said, "Well, you can pay for it with your own money, then."

I get the big, heavy sigh. "But Mom, you know I'm saving my money so I can buy a vehicle!" (see my post of September 9, 2008)

I repeated my earlier explanation of $10 being an expensive treat for just one girl, and if I bought her a $10 treat, I'd have to buy a $10 treat for Bretten and a $10 treat for Mychael, too, so that it would be fair. Then that would be $30 in treats. But if all the girls shared the game, then I only had to buy one $10 treat, and so on.

She gave me a look full of disappointment and disgust. "Fine!" she said, and stomped off to put the game back.

I called her back over, and tried to explain that sharing the game might not be as fun as owning it all to herself, but even if she had to share it, at least that meant she still had the game, and that would be better than not having the game at all, wouldn't it? But she was having none of that.

"Mom, I told you, I just don't share."

Well, the twins had observed this exchange, of course, and were jumping around and yapping at me, afraid their slice of the $10 was going down the drain. "Mommy, Mommy!" they cried. "Don't let her put it back, Mommy. You said we could get it. Can we still get it, Mom, huh, can we? We like it, too!! Please, Mommy, please, can we get it, huh?!?!"

"Fine!" I said, and they ran happily off after Cydanie to get the game, anyway. I figured that once we had the game home, the temptation of playing it would help Cyd get over her aversion to sharing and she would end up enjoying the game, anyway.

Flash forward to Cyd's free time last night. I noticed that one of the twins had left the Cake Mania game out right next to the computer as Cyd came in and sat down in front of it. I stealthily tried to observe her as she logged on, while trying to look like I wasn't observing anything (if she knows I'm watching her, she gets irritated with me). I was fully anticipating that as soon as she got started, she'd go ahead and put the CD in and play the game and act like she'd gone along with this "sharing" business from the start.

Imagine my surprise when, instead of putting the "Cake Mania" CD in the computer, Cyd Googled "Cake Mania," instead - and then began playing the free version via the internet!

The internet version has fewer levels, fewer rewards, and runs a lot slower. But apparently, in Cyd's world, it is better to play an inferior game on the internet, than it is to capitulate and actually share a better version of said game with your sisters!

Can you say "stubborn?" Grrrr!

If All Else Fails, Slap the Table

My oldest daughter (the one who has autism) goes to school in what our local school district calls a “self-contained learning center.” That’s a fancy name for what is, essentially, a class room that is set apart from the main school. It has its own lockers and a restroom so that the kids in that class never have to leave it during the school day. All the core subjects are taught there, and my daughter and her classmates only leave to attend whatever “mainstream” classes they might have, or to go to lunch. They wouldn’t even have to leave for lunch necessarily, if they bring their lunch from home.

Anyway, these types of classrooms generally have two teachers and only 10 to 12 students, all of whom have some kind of learning disability and/or sensory or behavioral problems. The small pupil-to-teacher ratio ensures that the kids get the extra academic help and support they need. The fact that this also limits the amount of time they are swimming with the all the neurotypical (i.e., “regular”) kids in the main hallways helps them, too, by minimizing what could be overwhelming sensory input/stimulation, thereby reducing the chances of conflict with any less-than-tolerant neurotypical students.

One of Cyd’s mainstream classes this semester is Foods. Back in the day, we used to call this class “Home Ec.” The name may have changed, but the gist is the same: a couple of days of classwork learning about nutrition and measurements and so on, and then a day cooking in the lab. Cyd loves to cook, so this is, naturally, one of her favorite classes. At the beginning of the school year, I emphasized to Cyd that if she didn’t cooperate on the classwork part, she wouldn’t earn the privilege of being able to cook in the lab part. I assumed she understood, and the school year was just floating along smoothly.

Silly me.

Yesterday, I get a call from Mrs. K, the Foods teacher. She just doesn’t know what to do, because Cyd is missing 11 assignments and is getting a D-, and the term ends Friday. Mrs. K doesn’t want to fail Cyd, but she can’t, in good conscience, give her a B based on labs alone. I panic. I know it’s “just” Foods. It's not like its Calculus or Chemistry or something really hard or even part of the “core” curriculum (like reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic)! But, seeing as this and gym are the only two mainstream classes she has this semester, it's important that she at least do all the assignments and maximize her participation points to help offset any difficulties she might have in other areas. I tell Mrs. K I understand her dilemma, of course I don’t expect her to pass Cyd if Cyd is not doing the work. I ask if there is some way Cyd can make up these assignments and bail her grade out of the toilet.

Mrs. K says sure - all the “assignments” are, are end-of-unit summaries/quizzes that Cyd has just plain refused to do. None of them have more than 20 questions, and the questions are not difficult. But, I explain that Cyd has always had a test-taking "thing" (from the age of 3 and her first autism “diagnostic inventory”), so I am not surprised that when they tried to get her to do these in class, she would just cry. So then Mrs. K said she told Cyd she could just copy them out, giving her the answers and everything, but all Cyd would do was put her head down and pretend to sleep. Why Mrs. K waited to tell me about the problem until the last week of the term, I'm not quite sure, but that’s a different story.

This story is about doing homework with Cyd, and I had to give you all that background so that you could fully appreciate the following:

Knowing that any homework is enough to set Cyd off on a melt-down, I try to be very cheery when I get home and ask Cyd for her papers from Mrs. K. I get Cyd some freshly sharpened pencils and some notebook paper, and set Cyd up at the dining room table. She is ready for business! I give her one paper that has 18 questions on it. They are mostly just pretty basic things, like, “The US Food and Drug Administration recommends six servings of grains per day for optimum nutritional health,” and “Unsaturated fats tend to be liquid at room temperature, and consist of monounsaturated (found in olive oil, avocado, nuts and seeds), and polyunsaturated (found in walnuts, soybeans, and oily fish such as sardines and tuna).” All Cyd has to do is copy these sentences, as the words that were left blank in the “real” quiz have already been filled in for her on this copy.

I explain this to Cyd. “Just write these sentences,” I say. “Copy them onto your paper, just like they are written here. I’ll be in the kitchen, so just holler if you need any help.”

I go into the kitchen to read the newspaper, do the dishes, and just putter. It is dead silent in the dining room. About a half hour goes by, and I go in to check on Cyd. The paper in front of her is blank. She has not done a thing but sit there and stare at it for 30 minutes.

“Cyd! What are you doing? C’mon – get started!” I say. She looks up at me from underneath her too-long bangs, and tears well up in her eyes.

“It’s hard!” she wines.

“Oh, Cyd, you don’t need to cry! C’mon! Just write your name at the top of your paper. You can do that, can’t you? That’s not hard!”

“I just don’t want to do it,” she moans.

At this point, I’m still full of patience and sunny optimism. “I know you don’t want to do it, honey, but, if you don’t do it in school when Mrs. K asks you to, then you have to do it at home. All you need to do is just copy the words – you don’t even have to look anything up or guess. The faster you start, the faster you’ll finish. C’mon!”

All I get is more tears.

Mind you, an hour has now gone by, and she still has not so much as even touched the pencil in front of her, not even to write her name. Tears are dripping off her chin and leaving dimples on the paper. And mind you, she has eleven of these pages to copy!

The minutes tick by. I pull out all my tricks. I bargain: "If you finish one, then you can have a break and get a snack!"

“Mom, I told you, I just don’t want to. I don’t do homework!”

“Well, if you don’t do it in school, you certainly DO do homework, alright! That’s the rule – do it in school, or do it at home. Either way, you’ve got to do your work.”

No response except the occasional sob.

So then I plead: "Please, Cydanie, Mommy doesn't like to fight with you – just please do it! C’mon!"

All I get in reply are more sobs.

Now I am losing my cheeriness (!) and am starting to get mad. I threaten: "If you don't do what Mrs. K says and write down these sentences, she won't let you be in her class anymore. Then you'll have to spend all your time with Mr. B! And even worse, you’ll be in trouble with Mom!"

Cyd continues to stare morosely at her pencil.

I am ashamed to say that this is the point at which my last button was pushed. I smack the flat of my hand down on the table, the loud bang making Cyd jump and look up at me. I yell, "That's IT!! You are acting like a baby! Grown-up kids…” Here, Cyd interrupts me.

“I’m not a grown-up!”

I roll right over the top of her words. “…Grown-up kids who want to get driver's licenses do their work when they’re told. But if you want to act like a baby…”

Cyd interrupts again. “I’m not a baby!”

“Well,” I growl, “you’re sure acting like one! If you want to act like a baby, then I'll treat you like a baby - a big, almost 16-year-old baby!”

Cyd interrupts again. "But Mom, I'm not 16. I'm only 15!"

I am all worked up now. I shout, "I don't care! 15 OR 16 - it's too old to act like this! I'm going to count to 10 and if you are not writing by the time I get to 10, I'm going to spank your butt!" I grab her hand and put the pencil in it, and set the point on the top of the blank sheet of paper.

“NOW WRITE!!”

I flop back in the chair across from her, red-faced and breathing heavy, and stare her down. Finally, she starts to write her name. I hold my breath as she starts to copy down sentence number one. She stops midway, and looks up at me. I narrow my eyes and point back to her paper. She goes back to writing.

We continue this way for the next 90 minutes or so. I keep getting the stink eye every now and again. She writes a line, glares at me and complains for a couple of minutes, then writes another line, then glares and complains some more, then writes a line, then glares/complains....

At the end of the evening, we had finished four of the eleven papers that are due Friday. That means four tonight, and three Thursday night, and then she’ll be all caught up. I certainly hope we don’t have to repeat this entire process tonight to get her started on the next batch. I think I'll go straight to the slapping the table part, if so.

An UGH Mood

Last night, I was really, really tired for some reason. I got home from work, made spaghetti for the kids, and then pretty much just veg'd the rest of the night. All I wanted to do was park my butt in front of the TV and just zone out as much as possible until I could justify going to bed.

Cyd, however, had other plans. She came up to me after dinner and said, "Mom, is it alright if I make some desert?"

Normally I am OK with this, as Cyd is a pretty good cook. However, her clean-up skills leave a bit to be desired. And, since I am trying to sell my house, I have to stay pretty vigilant about having it "showing ready" at the drop of a hat. So I weighed Cyd's desire for desert with my desire not to have to clean any more than absolutely necessary, and with a heavy sigh, I caved.

"Ugh! Fine!" I said.

Cyd bounced off, then came back a few minutes later with a box of spice cake mix. "It's not 7:30 yet and I just have enough time and so is it OK if I bake this?" came out of her, all on one breath.

I don't like cake all that much. In fact, the only kind of cake I really, really like is chocolate with white frosting, but Cyd doesn't like chocolate anything (besides brownies, that is...). And, Cydanie and Mychael generally only have one piece of cake each, and Bretten won't have any at all because she doesn't like any cake. That means whenever Cyd makes a cake, I either eat 3/4 of it by myself, or I end up throwing away almost a whole cake - both of which drive me crazy. I didn't have any better suggestions for Cyd, though, so once again, I caved.

"Ugh! Fine!" I said.

Off she runs again, only to come back five minutes later to say, "Is it OK if I just go over to Kerry's house and borrow some eggs because our eggs are all gone and I only need three!" Again, I am irritated - besides the fact that I don't like to borrow stuff, in general, and now I would have to go to the store sooner than I was planning on so that I could return the eggs to my neighbor, I was also thinking that if Cyd would only read the box before starting and assemble all her ingredients, then she'd know we didn't have eggs before she even started! Then I could convince her she couldn't make a cake, and then I wouldn't have to eat it all or throw it out, or clean up the mess afterwards! But no, it was too late - the mix and the oil and the water were already in the bowl. So, here I cave again, with another exasperated sigh: "Ugh! Fine!"

I am sitting there, reading the paper, thinking that finally Cyd is all set and I don't have to worry about her until it's time to clean up. It was not to last, as Bretten comes in with the bowl in her hand.

"Mom," she says, "is this all stirred up good enough? Cyd can't stir it all the way, and neither can I, but when I told her to come tell you, she's all, 'Mom's ugh.' Then I said, what do you mean, Mom's ugh? And she said, 'Mom's just ugh.' So I asked her what that meant, and she said, 'Mom's in an ugh mood.' So I asked her what an ugh mood was, and Cyd said, 'Everytime I tell Mom anything, she just goes 'ugh!'"

Of course, then I felt guilty for saying "Ugh" to Cyd all night, but I was also a little bit tickled at her perception, since recognizing and understanding other people's moods is generally a struggle for people with autism. And that was enough to get me out of my 'ugh' mood for the rest of the evening.

Somedays, it's a miracle....

Anyone who has no children, or only has very young (i.e., baby) children, will probably think I am the worst mother in the world when I say this - nevertheless, I offer the following confession: sometimes, one of my children will make me so mad that for at least a minute or so, I think I might gladly be able to peel off her skin and toast her over an open flame.

Case in point: One of my girls, who shall remain nameless at this point to protect the guilty, brought home a paper from school the other day. Mind you, this is a child who tests smarter than 97% of kids her age (this is the honest truth - I am not making up random numbers just to brag). School has only been in session for two weeks, but she brought home a paper from her algebra teacher two days ago that said she was getting a C+ so far - and that if she didn't have at least a B+ by the time mid-terms rolled around, she would be put into pre-algebra, instead. This particular child had pre-algebra in the 6th grade, and she managed to do just fine, so I was both puzzled and concerned.

I therefore went to discuss the matter with this daughter. "What's going on, sweetheart?" I asked. "Have you turned in all of your assignments? Is it just that much harder than last year? What can I do to help?"

"No, Mama," she said, her voice cracking. "I've turned in all my assignments. It's just too hard. I get too many wrong! I don't know what you can do to help because I don't know what to dooooo!!" she ended on a wail.

At this point, my heart is breaking as her tears overflow and run down her cheeks. "Oh, my poor baby!" I think. I fold her in my arms, and give her a hug and tell her everything will be OK - we'll figure something out, because she'd feel bad if she had to go back to pre-algebra, wouldn't she? Yes, she said. She would.

So, being the proactive mom, I e-mail the algebra teacher and ask, "What concepts is she just not getting? Is there anything in particular I can work with her on?"

The teacher responds, and I quote: "The concept of the importance of turning in all of her assignments would be a good place to start!"

Grrrr. Like I said, for at least a split second, I could've gladly squished her like a grape. Somedays, it's a miracle they survive....

Duh, Grandpa!

Another Cydanie funny:

Cyd's favorite TV show these days is "Trick My Truck," on CMT. For those of you not familiar with the show, it is where a bunch of mechanics surprise some deserving trucker with a complete overhaul, update, remodel, and/or restoration of his "rig," generally centered around some central theme. Like, the guy who hauls cases of honey around to grocery stores, got his 18-wheeler painted to look like a beehive, complete with bees and honeycombs (the real kind, not the cereal!). Well, Cyd likes this show so much, she is now saving to purchase her very own "vehicle" - she's got $29 saved so far! And she is very specific, as well - it will not be a car, nor a truck or van, but a "vehicle." She is always asking about what kind of "vehicle" she should get, as well. Lately I think she has it narrowed down to a GMC....

Anyway, the other thing Cyd loves to do is draw. Sometimes it's Pokemon characters (Ready? Sing to the tune of "Milkshake:" "My Pokemons bring all the geeks to the yard, and they're like, "Do you wanna trade cards?" And I'm like, "Yeah, I wanna trade cards. I'll trade you Jynx but not Charizard"....) Anyway, sometimes she draws other TV cartoon characters, sometimes it's outfits for playing sports or battling Pokemons or whatever, and sometimes it's food or outerspace or bakeries or....well, you get the picture. So, in keeping with her latest "Trick My Truck" focus, she's been drawing trucks.

Her truck pictures aren't "just" a truck, though. She usually does a full-on 18-wheeler, complete with decorated cab, fancy wheels, and psuedo-air brushed murals. Normally, she will break her drawing down into an "outside" picture, and an "inside" picture of what the "sleeper" part of the cab will look like. She finished one recently that had a stagecoach on the outside of it, and the interior picture she drew featured diamond-tucked upholstery, carriage lanterns, a flat-screen TV complete with "media cabinet" to store her DVD's and DVD player, and an easy chair placed front-n-center in front of her plasma TV.

She was quite proud of this picture and spent a while designing and coloring it. Well, my mom and dad stopped by for a minute last night, and she finally had her picture done so she was excited to show it to them. The carpet was a brick red, the upholstery kind of a cordovan, her lanterns bronze and her media cabinet and TV a rich, woodsy brown.

However, she left the TV screen uncolored. My dad, puzzled by this one little bit of unfinished (to him) detail on what was an otherwise fairly complex and detailed picture, said, "Very nice, Cydanie. Now, you know what this needs? This TV needs a picture on the screen!"

And little practical Cyd says to him, "Well, Grandpa - the TV's turned off. Duh!"

Hard to get mad at her for being a smart-*** when she's so funny, and makes such perfect sense at the same time!

"Will Make Faces For Food"

Most of my stories/moments so far have been about things that happened a while ago - sometimes a long while ago! However, just because Cydanie is older, doesn't mean she doesn't still come up with the occasional funny moment anymore.

Case in point: last week was hectic as I had relatives visiting from the east coast, the twins had "Cub Camp" in preparation for starting 7th grade (today!), and I have a big trial going on at work. Well, in order to get everyone where they needed to go last Thursday, I dropped Bretten and Mychael off at Cub Camp and left Cydanie home alone for a couple of hours. The plan was that my mom would pick Cyd up on her way to get the twins from the junior high, and then take all three of them down to Kim's place for the rest of the day. As I was going out the door, I was giving Cyd a bunch of last minute instructions: "If someone comes to the door, don't open it unless you know the person!" "No cooking on the stove or oven - microwave only!" "Don't forget to bring Bretty's stuff!" "Call Grandma if you need anything!" "Remember to put the dog in the laundry room before you leave!" and so on.

Well, I got home that evening and was quizzing Cyd on her day. "Did you remember to put the dog in the laundry room when you left?" I asked her.
"Yeah. And, I just gave her some food, too."
"You did, huh? Good job!"
"Yeah, she told me she was hungry, so I feed her."
At this point I am secretly smiling, but I maintain a straight face as I say, "She told you she was hungry?"
"Yeah."
"Hmmm...how did she do that?"
"Well, she made a face at me. So, I feed her."

Cracked me up! She gets very offended if you laugh at her, though, even when she's done something cute, so I had to struggle to keep the giggle in as I pictured our dog, a slightly chubby Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Sarah, making faces at Cyd in exchange for weight-control formula Purina One.

Looking at life a little differently....

So, most of you reading this know that my oldest daughter was born with autism. She is considered high-functioning, so often times you almost forget that she is any different from anyone else. However, every once in awhile things come along that remind me, that how she sees the world is very different from how I do!

As an example, we were at the grocery store on Friday night (yes, I know - its pathetic but that's my big weekend night out. Woo hoo!). I asked my other daughter, Bretten, whether or not we needed any eggs because a) I knew she and Mychael had been eating scrambled eggs for breakfast fairly often, and b) I also knew that she and Cydanie had been baking lately, and finally, c) Cyd informed me earlier that she intended to make cookies - all of which would indicate that our household consumption of eggs was on the rise! Bretten assured me, however, that we had plenty of eggs. I was being a typical grumbly parent and said, jokingly, "OK, but if we end up running out of eggs, I'm sending you to the store to go get more. AND, I'm making you walk!"

Bretten, pre-teen that she is, just rolled her eyes at me. Cydanie, on the other hand, said, "Why would you want to make her walk to the store, Mom?"
"So that I don't have to drive her," I replied.
"Why don't you want to drive her?"
"Because I don't want to waste the gas it would take to bring her all the way back to the grocery store just to get eggs," I said.
Then Cydanie gave me one of her priceless looks that seemed to say that she thought I was just about the silliest person on the planet, and said, "Well, you could just get some eggs at the gas station, you know!"

Yes, I know. She's absolutely right, I could just go get some eggs at the gas station....

Which reminds me of one other example of Cyd's unique outlook on the world. One time, about three years or so ago (I think Cyd was in the 7th or 8th grade at the time), we were on our way home and drove by a small pasture on the corner. In this pasture was a horse, I think of the "paint" type - a white body with large black splotches on it, kind of like a Holstein cow. The route was one we use fairly frequently, so I didn't think much of it one way or the other. But Cydanie said to me, "Mom, is that a horse or a cow?"

I marvel at how her brain works and how the world must seem to her. I looked at the horse, saw it was the outline of the horse, and without even thinking about it, assumed it was horse. Cydanie saw the outline of the horse, but with the coloring of a cow, and deliberated on how to weight that information - is the outline of the figure more telling, or the way the figure is filled in? Sometimes I think it would be absolutely fascinating to walk in her footsteps for a day, and look at life a little differently....