Charlie and the Ephram Gate

It was a Friday afternoon.

I, foolishly, had scheduled hair cuts for both of the boys right after Charlie got out of school for the day.

Foolishly?

Yes, three kids in a salon by myself is a bit foolish.

Especially considering the fact that Charlie is autistic and hair cuts are an ordeal for him.

And Ephram is a bit unpredictable of late.

He gets really frustrated when nobody understands what he wants.

He tries and tries to use words, 

But when nobody understands him and they move forward anyway...

It can be a bit of a disaster.

I can't imagine having the language comprehension and the imagination of my 

Three year old boy,

And still be struggling to form many of the basic sounds.

To have an idea that is perfectly reasonable,

To tell Mommy or Daddy about it,

And then to tell them again - 

And again - 

And again - 

And still not be understood.

We're talking about a boy that understands everything he hears,

Recognizes letters,

And many beginning sounds,

And is even starting to spell,

But just can't speak clearly.

So I try to be understanding,

(Patience, Dzana, patience)

And gentle,

But still...

Life must go on, right?

This particular Friday?

It was just sitting there, waiting to explode.

Charlie went first.

While he was getting his hair cut,

Ephram ran out the door,

And into the parking lot,

Three times.

Macie did not go to sleep during her usual nap time.

And uncharacteristically cried,

Pretty much the whole time.

(Two molars were pushing through her gums, poor girl!)

When Charlie was done

(And had finished screaming "You're hurting me!")

It was Ephram's turn.

And Ephram was, at that moment, trying to tell me something.

I did not understand.

I have a ton of tricks for this,

But on this day they all failed.

I tried to get his interest in sitting in one of the special chairs they have.

But he just started screaming,

And then he started crying,

And the hair started flying as he started flailing.

And I had to hold my poor boy still,

With all of my might,

While his hair was cut as quickly as possible.

(Breathe, Dzana, breathe.)

Meanwhile Macie was sobbing and 

Charlie was holding an unusual conversation with the next customer.

That customer was looking at me with a look I could not interpret.

Maybe concern?

Judgement?

Understanding?

Solidarity?

Probably just a hope that her poor one year old, 

(In for her first hair cut)

Would not freak out because of the crazy lady's children.

This, my friends, is one of the days when I wondered:

"What in the H-E-double hockey sticks was I thinking

When I decided to have three kids?"

I would be ashamed to admit this.

Except I know that all mothers secretly feel this way,
Regardless of how many children we have and what challenges we face,

And it doesn't change how much we love or care for our children.

Back in the salon,

Ephram was finally done.

Just as Charlie ran and grabbed a handful of dum dums,

Without asking and before it was time,

And unwrapped one and handed it to my not-yet-one baby,

Ephram threw up.

All over him.

All over the floor.

And all over me.

And then he did it again.

Macie was still sobbing,

As she tried to bite on the lollipop...

Which probably would have soothed her poor gums.

(Quiet voices, Dzana, don't scream.)

But then her mean, mean Mom

Grabbed it away super fast.

And the sob became a wail.

So with one overstimulated and completely crazed seven year old,

One traumatized, shaking and puke-stinky three year old,

And a screaming and spit-up covered baby in a car seat,

I waited forever while my credit card
Did not go through.

It turns out that there was some suspicious activity,

That was the monthly $3 charge that always comes through from Skype,

That I've told my bank about five times...

And so they had put a stop on my card.

(Unclench your fingers, Dzana, relax.)

Thank heaven I carried another card that day.

It finally went through,

I signed the slip as fast as I could,

With the hand that was holding Ephram on my hip.

Somehow I packed all three of my kids back in the car,

Shut the door,

And said a little prayer.

And then I started to drive.

This was almost four months ago.

If you've seen my recent pictures, you may have noticed Ephram's long hair.

You could say I'm a bit traumatized,

And more than a little worried that he may have some PTSD from the experience, too.

That hair cut will have to come eventually.

Soon.

But I'm putting it off until the last possible minute.

Because I can.

Back to our Friday.

I just wanted everyone to be happy.

And it was snack time.

So I drove through McDonald's on the way home

And gave each of my boys a chocolate chip cookie.

Yes, I use food in ways I never planned to.

I'm not ashamed of that either.

And I gave Macie a bottle and she drifted off to sleep.

I may have had a McFlurry.  

(And not the snack sized one.)

When we got home, 

Both of my boys had smiles.

And I thanked God for hearing my prayer.

As I put Macie to sleep upstairs,

My boys were a little sugar crazed downstairs,

And I returned to find them playing a new game.

We call it Ephram Gate.

When Charlie was three, he went through a gate stage.

Well, this is the day that Ephram's began.

He had the most fun blocking Charlie's path

(As Charlie counted 100 times running around our circular downstairs,)

And requiring different things for passage.

Sometimes it was a "credit card" toll,

Sometimes a magic word,

Sometimes a crazy dance.

I kid you not,

They did this for 75 minutes.

They turned my face to a smile, too...
And that headache that had been forming?
Never materialized.

I had never, ever seen them cooperate so well

Or laugh so much.

The rest of our day was - 

Wonderful.

Truly.

I will never forget this day.

Life has taught me a lot lately.

More than I've asked.

And mostly that every time I survive a disaster,

I'm immediately blessed with wonder.

So, bring on the disasters.

(But... Let's keep them manageable and minor, please?  I've had enough seriousness for a few years.  Salon disasters are far preferred to those that involve hospital stays.  Thanks.)

Positively Focused

I wanted to be a parent very, very badly for years.
I always knew that part of the challenge in parenting was to teach your children how to make their own good decisions, and that this involves discipline.

I never imagined that 90% of my parenting job would revolve around discipline.

Charlie is quirky.  Charlie also fixates.  And he tends to fixate more on negative behaviors than anything else.

When it comes to discipline, I feel as though I have tried everything.

I'm serious.

I've done so much reading, talking and asking about discipline.

I don't have any more questions to ask.

And I have not just heard the suggestions,

I've actually tried each of them.

Well, the reasonable ones.

I once had a nanny who said, 

"Why don't you just put him in the garage?"

Um... yeah.

(At the time it was tempting though, I'll admit.  I won't let you in on the details of his offenses that week or how they'd impacted my other children and my relationship with my husband.  Trust me, you're better off in the dark on this one.)

My mind likes to categorize things.

To me, discipline tactics seem to primarily focus on one of two things.

Tactic #1

Take something away from the child that they care about, so that they don't want to lose it again.  The hope is that they will not repeat the negative behavior in an effort to keep what they care for.  This can be time, it can be a privilege, it can be a thing, it can be an activity, it can be money, it can be replacing free time with something hard, boring or monotonous - and/or it can be that they have to work or do the "natural consequence" for the behavior they chose.

Here's the problem with this tactic for Charlie.  He doesn't attach to things.  He was severely neglected during the first year of his life and that has resulted in a dysfunction of his attachment cycle.  

He loves Legos, almost as much as he loves Star Wars.  We gave him a huge Star Wars Lego kit for Christmas and then he spent hours building it with his Dad.  It is most definitely his very favorite possession today.  

So what happens if I take away his prized Star Wars legos tomorrow?  He'll tell me that it's okay, he doesn't like them anyway.  And he won't be saying it to be rude or spiteful.  He'll mean it.

(But in school a couple of days later, he'll probably write in his Days Off Journal about how his mean, mean parents took away every single toy he ever owned and gave them to his brother.)

That's another problem with tactic 1... Charlie's a worst-case thinker.  If I tell him he's in time out, the world will fall apart in his mind.  He will start throwing himself down on the ground, kicking and screaming.  He'll dig a hole in the floor or bite a hole into his shirt and we'll begin an endless cycle that takes us all the way to bed time, and often also into the next day.  If we're really on a roll, this one time out can carry us through an entire week of H-E- double hockey sticks.  

That's not just discipline for him.  That's punishment for me, Andy, the other kids and sometimes people outside of our family, too.

No thank you.  

Tactic #2 

Scare, intimidate or bore the child in hopes that you "bully" them out of doing the behavior again.  Yes, I'm talking spanking.  Humiliation.  Belittling.

Biggest problem of this tactic:
If I am trying to teach my son not to be a bully - why would I bully him myself? 

Second big problem... Charlie is extremely sensitive to touch.  When he is in crisis, I can touch him on the shoulder to try to calm him down, and he will shrink away from me as he screams murder.

I am not against spanking.  And I certainly remember corporal punishment and some humiliating consequences that were used during childhood in my own, and others', family.

For Charlie, tactic 2 is pretty unacceptable.  It's that fixating piece in Charlie.  Or maybe it's the ADHD piece, or the opposition coming out.  Sometimes I have to physically move Charlie because he literally becomes a stone statue and will not budge.  I have gently pulled on his arm, I've gently pushed him from behind, and sometimes I have had to carry him.  In his mind, he usually believes that I have physically harmed him.  I think it is often because he is sensorily gone and registers the tactile feedback wrong.  I'll see him later in the day, the next day, sometimes months later, rubbing the part of his arm I touched until it is red.  Sometimes he'll pinch himself or hit himself where others have touched him.  He's rubbed off his skin, many times.  If this is the reaction to normal touch, can you imagine what the reaction could be in another situation?

Tactic 2 does not help us.

It most definitely makes things worse.

Um, worse doesn't sound good to me.  

I'll take better, please.

I sure wish someone could show me that magic "better" card for me to play.

What about the other things?

You're thinking - "Wait, that's not everything... there are other things too!"  I actually think pretty much everything fits into these two categories.

We use the Love and Logic framework, even though it is not very effective with Charlie, it is the best we have found.  I've done time ins.  I've done bear hugs through tantrums.  I've done isolation through tantrums.  I've removed items.  I've removed him.  I've taken more things away then I can count.  Natural consequences are so over-discussed in my house.  I've used the "I understand you want this, but I'm concerned about this, so this can't happen" framework.  I've bucketed my concerns in three categories and determined how I will deal with each category - including the one that doesn't matter.  We've charged him for behaviors, supplies, new clothes when his are ruined.  We've tried to help him think of things that he wants and built programs, both elaborate and small, for him to achieve his goal.

I have built a life around discipline.  It's like a full time job.  And I feel, all the time, like I have made very little - if any - progress.

Where does that leave us?

The point of discipline for Charlie is pretty simple.  First, it is to ensure his safety.  Second, it is to ensure the safety of those around him.  Third, it is to help develop his rational thinking and decision skills so that he can learn and improve.

Sometimes I imagine future Charlie and wonder about this future boy.  Will his reasoning power still be akin to a toddler's?  Or will future 16-year-old Charlie be an almost-man that I can trust behind the wheel of a car?  Will future 30-year-old Charlie be an upstanding, contributing member to society that makes good choices and is respected by his peers?  

Oh, I do hope so.

Lately, I have stumbled upon another way.  It's a spin-off of Tactic #1.  I'm taking away some time, some freedom, and I'm making him obey me in order to move forward.  But the overall focus on my new tactic is positive.

Tactic 1B
Take time away and help the child make a plan to improve behavior the next time the problem is faced.  Have them recap your discussion by making a plan.  Have them chose where to display the plan, if appropriate.

Here's an example.

Charlie had a period of time where he was policing his peers very strongly.
To him, the world is full of blacks and whites - almost no gray.
He would become upset anytime he saw any other child not doing exactly what they had been told.

(Let's not talk about how he was usually not doing as they were told either.  In his mind, somehow that does not apply.) 

What was he choosing to do in these instances?  Hit the offender.  

Yes.

Everyone reading this should know that there are at least 10 other choices you could make.

But that was all Charlie could think to chose in the situation.

So, after three such incidents in one week, after the same discussion in which we talk through what some of these choices could be, after multiple apology letters and lines to write, I gave him a new assignment...  Write down five things that you could do instead of hitting.

People with whom I have shared this approach almost always ask, "But how does he respond?  Can he do it?"  Yes, he can.  In both of his schools, there has been a focus on how to handle small problems.  This has loaded a small arsenal of appropriate responses in his mind.  He simply needs to chose the most appropriate and write them down.  Sometimes he gets stumped, but this is never something that he is required to do fully on his own.  He knows that he can come to me and discuss the problem.  He also knows that I will make him work in that discussion, we'll talk through the rationalizations and I will make him be the one to arrive at the answers.  (Thank heaven for that education and influencing experience I got through my previous career!)  

Charlie actually really likes this exercise.  I like it too, because it seems positive rather than negative.  It used to be that all I would see during times of consequence were glares, glares and more glares.  After these exercises I see...

Does it work?  That remains to be seen.  He still struggles very much in the heat of the moment.  But I have to believe in something, and I chose to believe in Charlie and in the power of repetition.  We may write about the same problem 5 times, 10 times, 50 times or more.  At some point, I believe he will be able to work this out in the moment.  

And then I'll know, definitively, that he is growing.

And then, just maybe, my life can be just 80% centered around discipline.

(Dare I hope for less?)

The Loud One (with a dash of flexibility)

If I had a dollar quarter dime nickel for every time some mildly behaved, well intentioned child asked me:

"Why is he so loud?"  

Well, I'd be a rich woman.

My answer has varied greatly over the years.  Depending on the child I have said, "Well, he really likes to be loud!"  To the ones that seem genuinely curious, "Have you ever met anyone else that really likes to be loud?  Do you like to be loud sometimes?"  Once, with an especially precocious and smart little five year old girl, I got an incredibly insightful answer.

"Well," she said, "There is this one boy in my class.  He really likes to be loud.  All the time."
"Why do you think he might like to be loud?"
"Well, I don't know.  But if I ignore it, it doesn't bother me too much."
"And if you don't ignore it?"
"Then I'm being bossy.  I don't like to be bossy."
"Well, Charlie really likes to be loud.  But to tell you the truth, I don't think he really knows he's being so loud most of the time."
"Oh.  It's like Christmas.  When you get so excited and go a little crazy."
"Yes, it's like Christmas.  Just for Charlie, and some other kids like him, things feel like Christmas a lot of the time."
"Oh!"
A moment passed, "Well, I'll try to have fun with him.  But can I tell you if I need some help?"

That particular time, they had a great time playing together.  And nobody asked me for any help.

But that is an example of a very rare occurrence in Charlie's social realm.  What typically happens is that the other kids like him at first, especially if they get him in a small and somewhat controlled dose.  Charlie is funny, and he is great with the compliments.  If he's not too over-the-top at the first meeting, he usually makes early friends.  But it doesn't take long for the other kids to start drifting away.  He makes the same compliments day after day.  He compliments some boys in ways that aren't quite right.  He has a very hard time with respecting personal space and keeping his hands and feet to himself.  It's hard for Charlie to follow protocol in a structured setting, and most kids don't want to be associated with the unpredictable one.  Socially, in rules of play and sharing, his skills are closer to those of a toddler.  And then there's the fact that Charlie fixates on things and wants to play the same game day after day in the same way.  Did I mention that there is also a [not really] small matter of him trying to police the kids around him?

But the thing that seems to stand in his way more than anything else is the matter of that volume control.  It's not just that he is loud.  He has to make noise.  Always.  He literally never stops talking.  If he is made to, he will start making noises with his feet, hands, or rocking back and forth.  And if he's asked to stop that, he'll start clearing his throat or breathing like Darth Vader.

Let's just sum this up by saying that it's no small feat to be Charlie's friend.

One time at kindergarten drop-off I saw him tell a boy in his class, "Your hair is really pretty."  The boy looked at him like he was an alien.  Then Charlie yelled "Ah!" inches away from his face really, really loud.  The little boy turned around, shaking his head and walked away.  Kudos to that little boy.  What great control.  Especially since Charlie was less than one footstep behind him the whole way into class.  That was one of the times that I followed in.  When I caught up I gave his shoulder a tight squeeze, which calms and centers him, and pulled him to the side to have a quick discussion about watching the body language of his peers and to wish him well for the day.

I walked out that day holding my breath.  This happened to be when I was on bed rest while pregnant with Macie, just a few weeks before her birth.  I was so torn that day.  Because I was on bed rest, I had a nanny at home with Ephram, and I thought about staying to help Charlie.

The truth is that I wish I could go through every day with Charlie.  For Charlie.  I wish that I could cue him on how to act and what to say, to center him and to instantly bring him back from his sensory-overload moments.  Oh, if I could just make those innocent children see the pay-off of playing with Charlie, of being his friend.  The silly giggles that are so much fun because he sees humor in literally everything.  The endless notes and pictures he'll give you that will make you feel on top of the world.  The wonderful imagination locked up underneath all of that noise.  I wish I could explain that yes, Charlie is different... because he sees the whole world differently.  And that, if you give his world a chance, it's an interesting place.

But, we all know how that works.  Any parent wishes they could take the burden on for their child.  But every parent knows that they can't.  I have to let him go and experience on his own, and look for the opportunities to teach and help where I can.

It's just that progress is so gradual with Charlie.  I find myself craving the documentation and reporting from school because it is empirical.  The statistician in me is drawn to the numbers.  My inner Six Sigma-ist knows that the smallest increments can tell the biggest stories.  With these records it is easier for me to find the little wins.  The big wins are few and far between.  They come so slowly that, without documentation, I would probably miss them completely.

So, I was very happy two weeks ago when we had what was, for Charlie, a roaring success of a trip to the Woodland Park Zoo.

The outing was fraught with obstacles that could cause meltdowns and trouble galore.  He was amped up because my parents had just come into town, and was hyper all morning.  I let him stay home from school, which just added to his amperage.  We were going to an outside venue... and Charlie always equates outside with lots and lots of yelling.  AND we were meeting a whole bunch of family that he had never seen before - great opportunities for showboating.  I spent the morning trying to maintain what calm I could in hopes of at least starting from a good place.

When we got there, my Uncle Del addressed Charlie directly and introduced him to all of his cousins one by one.  Giving Charlie this attentive intro set a perfect foundation for the outing.  And then my cousin Kendra's oldest daughter came wandering back.

"And this is Little Miss Wander Off," is how she was introduced to Charlie.  He was really excited to find out that she was in first grade, just like him.  And even though it was added, right away, that her name was actually Ella - Charlie clung on to that Little Miss Wander Off title.

For the next 15 minutes, I heard:
"Where is Little Miss Wander Off?"
"There you are Little Miss Wander Off!"
"Come back Little Miss Wander Off!"

He started to take it upon himself to make sure she stayed in the fold.  "Uh-oh," I thought.  Let the policing commence.  I pulled him aside with my trademark shoulder squeeze twice, within minutes.

But then, something wonderful happened.  Ella, like most kids that fall subject to the Charlie police, was starting to get a little annoyed.  So she did something about it.
"I'm not Little Miss Wander Off anymore.  I'm just Ella now."

(This was about a minute after I'd seen Kendra pull Ella aside and tell her to either stay close or she'd have to hold her mother's hand.)

Charlie called her Little Miss Wander Off again.
She repeated, as calmly as the first time, "I'm not Little Miss Wander Off anymore.  I'm just Ella now." And then she let out a little laugh.

Charlie tilted his head to the side and his eyes did the dizzy-dancing thing they do when he's truly processing.  I wasn't sure what would happen.  Then..
"Okay Little Miss Ella!  Come on!"

Did my ears deceive me?  Or did Charlie just show real-life, actual flexibility?
I swear, there were actual angels singing inside my head.

I almost laughed a few minutes later, near the gorilla exhibit, when Ella came up to me and said, "Where did the Loud One go?  Oh!  There he is!"  And off she ran, Little Miss Not Wandering Off Anymore to play with Little Mr Not Totally Inflexible Today.

You know what?  They had a blast.  They truly did.  They were both excellent map readers and bonded pretty well given the three hours they had to do it.

On one hand, it's unfortunate that Ella lives all the way in Canada.  (And we aren't talking nearby Vancouver, we're talking all the way in Alberta.)  On the other hand, it could be a great thing.  Charlie made a genuine friend with a second cousin and they can become great pen pals.

Hooray for the little victories that are huge for my guy.

People often ask me what they can do to make things more comfortable for Charlie.  In a lot of ways, that's my job.  It's my job to give everyone access to information about who Charlie is and what makes him tick, while respecting his space and privacy.  It's my job to work with Charlie and walk that fine line between asking for conformance with the world around him while letting him be different.  But if you're looking for that one thing that you can do to help those with ASD - and there are an awful lot of them around you - for me, I think it is to learn about them, to accept difference and to foster acceptance in the children you influence.  Difference can be confusing and frustrating, but accepting it comes with great reward.

The Family Dinner Box of Questions

Before Charlie, I thought that people on the autism spectrum did not enjoy being social.  (Remember, my only real reference for autism was the movie Rain Man.)  For Charlie, nothing could be further from fact.  Charlie loves to converse with anyone and everyone.

If you've been around my Charlie, I am 100% positive that he has attempted to talk your ear off.  Chances are that he has said some strange things, perhaps repeated the same thing several times, laughed in the wrong place (and a little too energetically,) gotten too close to you or been very loud.  Sometimes he says those taboo things that we all know shouldn't be voiced.  And I'm not talking about telling someone how old his mother is.

When he was three, he used to say the same speech to everyone that said hello to him in the grocery store.  And that was a lot of people, because he was a terrifically cute toddler.  The speech went something like this, "Hi my name is Charlie.  My favorite color is red.  This is my mom.  That's my brother inside her belly.  I am three."  Sometimes he would go as far as to add in additional details, like our phone number at the end.  It was a charming little speech that usually made the other person smile.  They would always say something in return, because that's how conversations work.  They're reciprocal.  But, at the time, Charlie couldn't handle this scenario.  He would usually answer their addition, whether it was "Oh, when will your brother be born," or "My favorite color is red, too," With the same thing.  "Hi!  My name is Charlie.  My favorite color is red.  This is my mom..."  At that point, I'd get an interesting look.  And I'd kind of smile, say something to try to be funny and move along.

The thing is, Charlie loves to be social but he has to really work at how to do so appropriately.  We are always seeking out ways to help him be successful in his conversations.  Charlie has learned the rules.  You wait until someone is looking at you.  Don't break into the conversation, wait for a pause.  Take breaks in between your questions.  Watch their facial expression and body language to know if they want to continue.  He's learned to ask a question, wait for an answer or question in return, and then say something that makes sense in response to their addition.  He has learned how to introduce himself.  We spent an entire half year working on learning idioms.  You know - those little sayings that we all understand, but to Charlie were perplexing puzzles...  "There are butterflies in my stomach."  "Cat got your tongue?"  He has to learn the rules for everything, and his mind amazes me in its ability to retain and categorize these little details.  Still, in real time it often goes awry.

Meal times have been especially difficult for him, (meal times are one of his biggest challenges in general.)  This Easter, the bunny brought him a new game called "The Family Dinner Box of Questions".  It's a Melissa and Doug product.  The game includes a set of cards printed with conversation-starter questions.  There are lots of ways you can play, but Charlie has enjoyed handing us each one card, face down at the beginning of our dinner.  We take turns reading the question out loud, answering it and then we have a family discussion on the question and the answer as long as it feels comfortable.  This game has started some fun conversation that Charlie has been able to easily join in on.

Tonight his card read, "If you could have a wild animal from anywhere in the world as a pet, which animal would you choose?"  Charlie wanted to say a Wookie, but Andy vetoed his answer because that is not an animal of this world.  (Andy also contested if a Wookie was truly a pet.)  Overruled, Charlie then chose, "A cute little jaguar.  But only while it was little, before it got too scary."

For those of you out there that have similar struggles to ours, or if you're just looking for a fun conversation-starting game for your family... I highly suggest this one.

True Story: Halloween Kovar Kids

You probably haven't noticed this, but I love to take pictures of my kids for holidays.
Okay, so it's obvious.

But taking pictures of an autistic child, a toddler and a baby -  all in the same place, at the same time, not melting down, not hungry, not tired and actually willing to smile - is challenging.  Very challenging.  So challenging at the stages they were all in this October that I was 100% positive that it would not work out on the day of Halloween.  Surely on Halloween, we could anticipate meltdowns from all three due to anticipation, over-sugaring and overstimulation.

(Yes, my prediction was correct as evidenced on the 31st.)

I am so glad that I can take decent pictures of them, because if I had to rely on studios, we would not have many pictures with them all together in the frame.  You will notice in posts-to-follow that we failed to obtain a single picture of all three costumes together.  Not even a bad picture.  They would not get together in the same frame with those costumes on.  Period.

This year, I decided we had a two week window to get Halloween pictures done.  For two weeks I kept the boys' Halloween shirts and Macie's Halloween dress and headband downstairs on the counter.  There they sat, ready to grab and throw on the kids when the miraculous alignment of picture-perfect happiness would occur.  I straightened my bed every morning, and cleared off the neighboring night stands, so that my scene would be set.  (Really, these are things I should do every morning... but I don't.)

The first week gave me nothing.  I thought about putting the outfits away.  One morning I came downstairs without making the bed, and didn't go back up and do it when Macie took her first nap either.  In fact, I thought about crawling back in bed instead.  Did I mention the autistic child, the toddler and the baby?  Some of my days are so challenging that it takes me a couple to recover.

And then it finally happened.  Charlie had a great day at school and did his homework quickly.  Ephram actually took a nap that morning so he was not experiencing his afternoon cranks.  And Macie woke up from her nap just as their snack was starting.  So I nursed her during their snack and then grabbed the outfits and put them on.  Even the discovery of Ephram's dirty diaper did not stop us.  I had to bribe Charlie with a dollar.  (Usually it is Ephram that takes the bribing, but he ran away before I'd even got his pants on and went to my room where he started self-posing this time.)  They gave me 23 full minutes of photo-taking bliss - yes this is my bliss.  Then Macie let me know that we were done.  Five minutes later she was peacefully sleeping in her swing.  Success.

And that is the true story of how I got these precious pictures.  So, next time you look at pictures of my kids and think, "Wow, they look so happy.  They're always smiling."  Just know that I may have worked hard to make that happen.  I may have waited them out.  It may (probably) be set-up.

Just being real.  Because blogs are so often un-real perfect presentations of our imperfect lives.

Here are my littles, ready for Halloween, six days early.
(And Boone, too.)

Charlie the Speller

Here is Charlie with his very first ever spelling test.

He got a "4", which is a perfect score.  We always knew Charlie was a good speller, but it turns out that he also really likes the accomplishment from getting a perfect score on a test.

And, since I am posting this over two months later, I can tell you a little more.  Charlie has brought home six more spelling tests.  All of them are perfect.  In addition, his teacher starting doing dictations about a month ago to review past spelling words, and all of those have been perfect too.

Some autistic children are gifted with an exceptional talent in one area.  Charlie doesn't have an off-the-charts IQ, nor is he considered a prodigy in anything.  But, I am so impressed with his language-ability.  Spelling comes naturally to him.  This is probably because of the hours he spends reading almost every day.  He loves, loves, loves books.  When they tested at school, he tested at 3rd grade, 6 month for his reading level.  He can read just about anything and even goes to a dictionary if he doesn't understand a word.  He surprises me because he can also recap any story that he has read in his own words.

Mostly, though, I'm glad that he knows that feeling of getting lost in a book.  One of the best feelings in the world.  When Charlie reads, his body calms down.  He says that it makes his mind quiet.  He truly loves it.  And, if my son needs to work so hard to live in this world that is different than the one in his head, I am glad that he has this escape.

A New Year, A New School

Charlie is attending a new school this year.
We are very fortunate.
His autism diagnosis was finalized at last three weeks before school ended last year.
His old school rushed through the requirements in order for Charlie to be eligible for a new program.
This year the school that is next closest to us started a special program for kids on the autism spectrum.
It is called Connections and it allows Charlie to remain mainstreamed but receive excellent support.

So this year he has two teachers and two classrooms.
Ms. McCormack is his first grade teacher.  He spends most of his day there.
Ms. Dickison is his Connections teacher.  He starts and ends his day in the Connections classroom.
He also goes to Connections daily for 30 minutes for "club".
In club they work on social skills, Superflex and language skills... as well as other things.
Additionally, Charlie can go to "home base" in the Connections room when he needs to regroup during the day.
He can eat his lunch there, do recess there, and go there instead of attending music/PE if those classes are too sensorily overwhelming.
Of immense importance is the fact that "home base" is a productive place.
When he is there, he is always working on something.
It may be school work, it may be social skills, it may be coping skills...
But, he is always working on something.

The Connections program provides a teacher and two aides.
Charlie has 1000 times more support this year than last.
As of two weeks ago, he also finally has an official IEP.
And while we still struggle in various ways,
I have hope -
Much more hope than I did last year -
That school can be a productive and positive place for my eldest son.
Who is so, so loving, eager, bright and intellectually capable.
(And so distractible, impulsive and disruptive in comparison to his peers.)

We were so excited to be included in the Connections program during its first year at this school.
And even more excited when we learned that the program was to be located at Little Cedars.
Little Cedars is the newest elementary school in our district.
It is less than two miles away from our home.
It is a large school with excellent resources and fantastic administration.
As a parent, it seemed that everything was aligned perfectly.

Charlie had some trepidation, however.
He liked his old school and wanted to continue to be a Raven.
So we signed up to attend the family orientation at the new school in August.
Ten minutes in, Charlie saw one of his best friends from his old school.
He instantly warmed up.
Ms. Dickison even made a special trip to the school that day to meet him.
By the time we left, he was more than eager to become a Wolverine.

As I write this, school has been in session for just under two months.
But I feel confident in saying that this school and this program are already, and will continue to be, a huge blessing for our family.

Sweet Charlie

Before Charlie, I had a completely different picture of autism in my head.
The Rain Man, totally self-absorbed and unaware of anyone else picture of autism.

Since Charlie, I have learned that autism doesn't have one picture.
It doesn't have two,
Three,
Ten,
Or one hundred.

Autism looks different for every child.
When you've seen one person with autism,
You've seen just one picture.
But autism itself has an endless number of presentations.

So, my Charlie, it is true that he lives inside his self more than your typical kid.
But it is not true that he is unaware of others.
To the contrary,
Others are a constant puzzle to Charlie.
He wants to make them happy -
He likes to see those smiles
To hear those laughs -
He just doesn't always know how to do it.

So, when he finds something that works,
You better believe he is going to do it over,
And over,
And over.

For days,
Weeks,
Months,
And sometimes years.

This year, Charlie learned about the power of a note.
A simple string of words to make a person feel good.
And now we find them everywhere.

Sure, it may be a fixation.
But this is one fixation that I find endearing and have no intention of quashing.

Brothers and Sister

One of the best parts about being a mom of more than one child is watching how those kids form relationships of their own.

Things are a bit different in our family because we have some special circumstances.  Charlie's autism means that he relates to others differently and what he wants and needs socially is just different then the norm.  But being autistic does not mean that he is not social.  Charlie is social, and relationships are important to him... just in a unique way.

Charlie and Ephram have a good bond.  They love to have fun.  They wrestle, they laugh, they build, they knock down, they chase.  They are boys.

Charlie and Ephram have individual relationships with Macie that are markedly different.  With Macie, Charlie shows a softness that I have rarely seen.  He displays concern and tries so hard to figure out just what will get her to smile.  For Ephram, it comes a little more naturally.  And because of that I think there is less of a barrier between those two.  Macie loves both of her brothers.  And they love her.

Here are some of the moments they shared in July.

Ephram has assigned himself the role of Macie's protector.  Anytime he is worried about anything, he will run straight to her side to ensure her safety.

He also desperately wants to care for her.  On this particular day, he put her to sleep all by himself.  He was very proud.

Both of the boys love to sing to her.  Sometimes she gets a little overwhelmed when they are both there, so we need to take turns.  Here is some Itsy, Bitsy Spider action

The second Macie is laid down on the floor, Ephram is there.  He always has at least one toy in hand to teach her about play.  This girl is going to have so much help in learning how to use things!

Ephram has been trying to get Macie to be ticklish.  She thinks he is funny.

Charlie's favorite thing is reading - so he often will bring a book to read to Macie.

And then Ephram will step in and show her how to make it light up.

That Ephram is Macie's shadow.  But she doesn't mind!  I have a feeling these two just might be the best-of-friends kind of siblings.  I'd love that.  Only time will tell...