Please Leave My Kitchen

I've made a few huge strides in learning to speak Asperger's in the last few weeks. Part of it is that John is able to communicate better as he gets older. Part of it is discovering Wrong Planet, a forum that includes mostly adults with Asperger's. I'm realizing that experts in the field of Autism can only give us Neurotypicals their observations about Aspergian behavior and thought patterns. That's like learning about a culture from someone who has only studied the culture, not lived it, let alone, been born into it.

Wrong Planet gives me the opportunity to learn from people who have Aspergers and have lived long enough to be able to speak NT fluently enough to help me understand their perspective. The same phenomenon exists after reading Look Me in the Eye and Be Different, books written by an Aspergian to explain his point of view.

Those new insights, combined with consideration for John's own unique personality, the way our family works, and lots of talking with my mother who has her own unique insights into why children behave the way they do, have led to some important discoveries. I plan to share them over the next few weeks here. One such discovery, I blogged about on Mamaholly.

Another discovery is simply asking John to leave my premise when he is being obnoxious or belligerent or argumentative or even, uninvited assistant parent. I have spent years, before realizing his neurological differences, punishing his disrespectful behavior. I've tried to explain why his behavior was inappropriate. I've also "tried to be patient" and explain the expectations and why he was receiving whichever consequence I had contrived at the time. I've tried stickers and rewards and many other techniques. If anything worked, it worked only for short periods of time.

John's behavior can be infuriating and, apparently, so can mine, as is seen in his frequent rages. As I've learned more about Aspergers, I'm learning how frustrating it can be to him to communicate or to keep his mouth shut when he disagrees. I see it is common to have a hyper-vigilant sense of justice, such as I've always seen with him.

I thought I had the key as soon as I learned John had Aspergers. I thought he just didn't understand social cues and all I would have to do is teach/explain/draw/write out the expectations and he would become cooperative and grateful for my guidance. Yeah, it's been nothing like that.

Now I know, that that is a flawed outsider's perspective. Yes, it is true, that many Aspergians don't pick up on subtle social cues, body language and idioms. But, I am learning, that some who learn the expected pattern disagree in principle with the concept. The social pattern of greeting someone with the question "How are you?" and the expected response of "Fine" is a perfect example.

Some Aspergians think the social convention of a contrived question in the form of a greeting call and response is ridiculous. I can actually see their point. So, some of them, either choose to go along with it, begrudgingly, because it is more important to them to maintain certain relationships or consider themselves something of social idiocy rebellion leaders and will painstakingly tell you in great detail exactly how they are because you actually asked.

I think John falls into the second category on many occasions. He frequently sees a social convention and makes the valid choice not to comply. There are consequences to making such a choice, as there are to any form of rebellion. Unfortunately, if one doesn't play the expected social game, one can find himself isolated, not welcomed into relationships or gatherings or even the victim of ridicule or bullying. I have actually come to admire his audacity and willingness to lose for the sake of doing what he believes is right. I've decided to give him much more freedom in this manner.

Unfortunately, what he believes is right frequently flies in the face of what I believe is right. While I now recognize it is a valid choice for him to make, I also realize that his rights frequently preclude my rights for not being abused verbally. I've adopted a pattern of politely, sweetly asking him to leave my kitchen (or any place I own), when he is doing something that bothers me, as soon as it bothers me. I used to try to be patient, a practice which succeeded in sending mixed signals and allowed me to become frustrated and angry in ways that were not becoming to me as a parent.

I have started trying to visual how I would react if he were simply an annoying or bothersome adult I happen to know. If the annoyance is mild, I usually overlook it and then just avoid making plans with that person in the future. If it persists, and the relationship is valuable enough, I may have a conversation explaining my boundaries. Sometimes, I just avoid certain subjects or nod my head instead of sharing my opinion. If it's bad enough, I leave or ask them to leave depending on the location. In none of my interactions with fellow adults do I try to tell them how to behave or punish them.

As my latest self-defense mechanism I started asking him to leave as I would a persistently annoying adult. He has routinely, calmly, maybe with some muttering, left. No throwing. No screaming. No arguing. It was actually a little eery at first. Even eerier, a few minutes later, a very meek John would approach the doorway and say something like "May I come back in?" followed with an "I'm sorry if I was rude."

In my excitement, I decided to put my teacher hat back on, subconsciously. I found myself saying, "That was rude. Please leave my kitchen." But that didn't work. He didn't always agree that what he was doing was, in fact, rude. He respects the fact it is my kitchen and I have a right to choose how I am treated in there, but he feels the need to argue when he believes his character is maligned.

Most of John's annoying or inappropriate behaviors build, so I just ask him to leave as soon as it starts, before either of us is angry. It helps that I accept it isn't my failing that allows him to speak that way. It is simply a choice he has made, on his own, though it isn't the choice I would have made. The result is more peace than I've experienced since I taught him, a screaming, 20-month-old foster child to sign "please" before I would pick him up.

Telling him not to be rude, or to come back and say something in a respectful manner, or to apologize, or just to close his mouth is viewed as impinging on his rights. And in a logical extension of that, he is willing not to impinge on mine by continuing to berate me in my own kitchen. Oh, and interestingly, this peace has extended to his interactions with his sister because he's not constantly fuming about the way I've disrespected him.

Asperger's word of the day: Respect. Yep, even in speaking Asperger's, you have to give it in order to receive it.

It Seems Like the Right Time for a New Post

My boy. Oh, how I love my boy. I might very well be bored without the challenges he presents me.

John's meds have been affecting his appetite. It's unusual for us since most of the time we have to ensure he isn't just obsessively stuffing his face despite obvious pain and fullness. But he has said he isn't hungry when he wakes up. I proposed a solution: let's switch your breakfast and reading time slots so you can eat a little later.

He was thrilled yesterday afternoon when I mentioned the possibility. He even remembered the change this morning. Now, we don't have a schedule because I need or even want one. He NEEDS one. He wants one. He is comforted by the schedule that has taken us years to develop. He needs it posted. In fact, he even needs to argue with it occasionally. But in the end, it always wins because it is written. And things that are written contain the utmost authority for John.

It was a simple switch in time slots. I had thought that part would be obvious to my very logical and linear son. Everything he would normally do at 7:30, he would now do at 8:00 and vice versa. Except that's not how he saw it. Here's what really happened:

Previous Schedule	New Schedule	What Really Happened
7:00 Wake up/Get ready	7:00 Wake up/Get ready	7:00 Wake up/Get ready
7:30 Breakfast/unload dishwasher	7:30 Free Reading	7:30 Argue vehemently how he should have extra time to get dressed in the mornings. Insist on knowing what breakfast was going to be. Drink water. Lots of water. Starts Reading.
8:00 Free Reading	8:00 Breakfast/unload dishwasher
8:30 Restroom/drink/change laundry/sharpen pencil	8:30 Restroom/drink/change laundry/sharpen pencil
		8:40 Stops reading. Gets a drink of water. Lots of water. Visits the bathroom. Attends emergency schedule adjustment meeting called by Mom. Argues how he is right on time and Mom has grossly miscalculated. Previous diagram is shared and he argues nonetheless that he should be allowed an extra half hour for everything due to the schedule change. “Who care’s about stupid schedules anyway.” Finally eats some yogurt. Dishwashes isn’t unloaded and laundry isn’t changed. Mom reprioritizes, prays silently for His grace which is sufficient.
8:50 Prayer Circle	8:50 Prayer Circle
9:00 Math	9:00 Math	9:00 Math -- “Look Mom, I finally got you back on schedule.”

All I can do is giggle, blog, and wait for tomorrow when I will try again to help him adjust. Tomorrow will be better. I'm sure he'll keep me on track.

Asperger's vocabulary of the day: Flexibility. It can be difficult for Neuro-typicals as well as those who reside on the Spectrum.

Birthday, Bah Humbug

It's John's birthday. He has high expectations. He's cognizant enough to have been counting down to this day for weeks. Because of that, at 9:30 am, I'm already writing about how miserable everyone in the house is.

I got up this morning and had a delightful run. My thoughts were preoccupied with a blog post about how I didn't even know John was being born twelve years ago, but I was already being prepared to be his mother in very important ways. I was going to reveal what a blessing it is to know and love John and how he has stretched me and challenged me in ways no one else on this planet has. He has helped to uncover parts of my character I'd rather not address and might not have recognized without him. He has shown me strength and faith I didn't know I had. He needled his way straight into my heart the first moment I laid eyes on his impish smile and his little bald toddler head.

But then the day went a completely different direction. I popped back in the house with a smile in my heart and plans to pour out affection and sweet words on my son. But he was edgy. He was rude to his grandmother. I could hear agitation in her voice. And she's normally very understanding and patient with him. He refused to do his normal morning routine and he had also thrown a spoon at his sister. He absolutely would not apologize because he didn't hit her, the spoon did.

I put on my understanding, Aspie-talking hat and went to nip it in the bud. I'm not exactly sure why his typical antics flew all over me this morning. It may have been because he was so utterly rigid in the face of something so simple and necessary as a little consideration. (Yeah, I know, I wasn't thinking Aspie, right there.) It may have been that I had built the day up a little too much in my own head.

I screamed and I cried. I bawled for the loss of that lacy-edged vignette I had enjoyed during my run. I cried out to God. I had myself a neuro-typical meltdown. I kind of understand the release it brings. I furiously texted two wonderful, godly friends who helped me think it through.

John had been Disneylanded.

When he was younger, Theo used to say that John was allergic to fun. If he found out we were going to do something fun, he seemed to do everything in his power to sabotage the experience, even though it was something he wanted to do. Disneyland is a supreme disappointment to him. He builds it up in his mind and wants it to be utterly perfect, expects it to be so.

Then he is devastated when the temperature is hot. There are lines. The music on the rides is loud. The food vendors don't all automatically serve everything magically gluten free. And there are lots of people EVERYWHERE. Sights. Smells. Sounds. Disneyland (without proper planning) is a recipe for overstimulation and the let down of reality in what claims to be "The happiest place on earth."

I thought I had prepared properly for this birthday. I prepared him to expect a normal school day to maintain a routine, but I had gotten that motherly twinkle of excitement and decided to let him pick all three meals for today and planned to have some fun projects and make school just a little bit special with a video during history and some board games during math.

In the meantime, he had some birthday twinkling of his own. I think he planned on this being the "Happiest day on earth." I believe he imagined no responsibilities, delicious food, the freedom to choose his own everything, everyone would be nice to him, he wouldn't get in trouble, he would be showered with affection and his little sister would not dare to do anything annoying.

Reality wasn't nearly so awesome. I knew to expect this to a certain extent. That's why I tried so hard to find a way to make it fun while not taking him out of routine too much. That's where I went wrong. I should have done everything in my power to make it as mundane as possible while still acknowledging it is his birthday. Since his brain was already at Disneyland, I needed to make his real world more like a rainy day, curled up with a good book.

I learned a long time ago (and have to relearn from time to time) that John is the worst predictor of what will bring him happiness. It was too much pressure to have him choose three meals. The truth is that I would have picked something similar with him in mind but it would have caused him less stress. After the day is done, he'll still be mulling over how the day might have been better had he chosen grilled cheese rather than cheesy bbq fries for lunch. I should have spent less time planning special projects and more time reassuring him that things would be the same despite it being his birthday. I should have given him a written list of what to expect and what was expected of him.

After my tantrum, John seemed relieved instead of appalled. I guess I expressed outwardly what was going on inside of him. We aren't playing Yahtzee during math, he's doing a set of electronic worksheets and I hear him humming, relaxed. I'm giving him some space so he can work in peace. And the girls are taking a lovely bubble bath and behaving like it's a special day in his stead.

I'll read him this blog post later while I tear up. He'll listen raptly and rub his face and say something like, "I love you, Mom. Sorry you got upset. Can I have some grapes?"

I'll say "Yes, you can eat the whole bag. I bought it just for you."

He'll be thrilled! And then he'll complain how it was really just a small bag of grapes so he's still hungry. And then I'll know we're back to normal and I can stop freaking out about the fact I had a meltdown earlier.

Happy Birthday, John. I love you so much. Now, get back to work.

The Walls of Our Hearts

It's been a hard few weeks. I don't know which of John's official diagnoses are accurate, relevant, all part of the same thing or which he seems to have recovered from like Reactive Attachment Disorder. Certainly the label of Aspergers Syndrome has been quite helpful in helping our family communicate with each other. I only mention his alphabet soup list of disorders (Bipolar, OCD, Written Expression Learning Disability and Sensory-Motor Disorder on top of the aforementioned AS and RAD) to say regardless of what those mean, you can tell he's got it rough.

Sometimes we experience what I call an emotional death spiral. This has been one of those times. There's been prayer as well as avoiding God on my part. I find myself realizing I'm very fragile. I post (on Facebook) or tell the medical health professionals that I'm have a very hard time, Hannah's having a hard time, we all are getting sucked into the black hole and I usually get a lot of very flattering commentary that I'm exactly who God ordained to be his mother or "Sounds like you are doing all the right things!" in a little doctory sing-song.

The truth is that we aren't drowning. For all of what is going on with John, we are actually doing well compared to others. But, wow, I feel like I've been treading water for a really long time and I'm pretty tired.

Thanks to some intimate talk with a dear friend, I realized I was not casting all my burdens on God. I started reading the Bible daily again, even though I had been not been experiencing the Word jumping off the page for a while. I was in a spiritual desert.

This morning I read Proverbs 25 to match today's date for lack of inspiration to read anywhere else. A verse jumped of the page! "25:28 Like a city that is broken down and without a wall so is a person who cannot control his temper." Theo and I had just talked last night about how God had woo'd us back again and we were needed to change the mood of the house instead of allowing John's moods to be in charge.

I knew immediately this was something to cover during our Bible lesson in school today. But John was having nothing of it, school, that is. "You didn't say we were going to do a full day of school, you just said we were going to do school!" There was more of his typical mix of hilarity and venom.

I kept that Word about controlling my temper in my heart, prayed, and remembered that he is hurting. I remained firm on my expectations while being kind and loving and trying to go out of my way give him gentle touches when he was in his most agitated moments. I also proceeded with our school day, encouraging him to jump in frequently. He slammed the bathroom door into the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall. He hurled a plastic shoe very hard at the glass in the front door. He writhed on the floor and upturned chairs and the vacuum cleaner. As long as I was peacefully moving on with the day while reminding him what was next those fits became softer and shorter. He didn't throw anything toward any people and he didn't touch any of us in his rages. We loved him and waited without paying too much heed to the anger that welled. To engage him or to force him to stop is only to escalate and create a dangerous environment. While this wasn't fun, he was in control enough to keep from hurting those he loves.

He refused to come into the room to participate in Bible and Etiquette but I saw at one point he had been quietly sitting in the other room listening as I taught Hannah. I talked about how bad things could get in a city if the walls were down. Then I talked about the walls of our hearts and how if we have trouble with our tempers it breaks parts of those walls and bad things can then get in.

It took until 5 pm for him to be calm enough to complete all of his tasks. He was still refusing to admit that he had anything to do for Bible and Etiquette because he had listened and, in his mind, that was the only point.

At that point, Theo called. I took a few minutes to talk in private about the situation, plying the older two children with cheese sticks for those precious moments alone. My temptation would be to say that he needed to write down what he had heard because I taught that class once already and without him participating, answering questions, making eye contact I had no way of knowing that he had absorbed the information. My primary goal was to encourage him to participate cooperatively when he is supposed to tomorrow, and other days.

Based on Theo's suggestions and the time I had had to relax, I had a new plan. I asked him to come sit at the white board. I wrote the class names on the board and then did a flow chart, basically. If he chose to listen to me explain something, he could then just tell me what he heard this morning and we could discuss. If he chose not to listen politely, he could write 5 sentences for each subject. One sentence is usually enough to send him into panic.

He chose the easier path. I drew stick figures of tossed chairs and overturned vacuums. I drew pictures of a stick boy sitting in a chair with circles on his head representing open ears. Because he chose to calmly stay, given his options, he was able to absorb the visual information and even giggle about his obviously unhelpful and silly behavior. I kept it light hearted. We talked about what I wanted as far as sitting in class and so on. He was in agreement and repentant. That conversation was a victory in itself.

Then it was his turn to tell me what he had learned in Bible. He had heard some of it and we had a great discussion about those bad things being able to get into one's heart and how the Holy Spirit had helped me this morning with that passage and how I thought it might help him. I told him I knew he didn't know how to control his temper but that if he wanted to learn and asked God to help him, surely it would be done over time.

He was thoughtful and quiet. After a few minutes he made a connection I would never have dreamed of. "Mom, the Bible says God didn't give us a spirit of fear..." John has mind-blowing, hallucinatory, debilitating fears and anxieties. We talked about how the enemy was like a thief coming to steal, kill and destroy. And what we had been given instead of fear was power, love and a sound mind. Wow!!!! What a thought! Those are exactly things that were frequently missing from my boy and fear was left in its place. We both agreed it was time to pray about that temper control to help build up those walls that protect his heart.

Aspergers vocabulary Word of the day: Proverbs 25:28 Like a city that is broken down and without a wall, so is a person who cannot control his temper.

Multiplication Tables

I've found a great new website: http://www.wrongplanet.net/ It's an autism community. It's very helpful to find other parents dealing with similar issues. It's also very helpful to find people contributing who have autism spectrum disorders and children of parents with ASDs.

I went there yesterday to see if I could find some help with John's issue of peeing all over the bathroom. I didn't find anything that quite hit the nail on the head yet, but I did find something else very interesting.

We've tried to move ahead in math but John still hasn't mastered basic multiplication, which makes division very difficult to learn. With his anxiety, if he doesn't know the answer immediately, he won't even attempt the problem. So math has been at a grinding halt for a couple of years. Let's throw in the fact that he has severe written expression problems and we spent all of last year getting him comfortable with the concept. He's finally comfortable and, as always, gets nearly 100% correct, only he has never gotten any faster.

We've tried math wrap-ups, Timez Attacks, other online math programs, saxon math, daily drills, math board games, flash cards, incentives, punishments, moving on while keeping a chart handy. Nothing has met his crushing anxiety and stood up to it.

But yesterday I read the advice of a grown man who has Aspergers and holds an advanced math degree. He had John's math issues as a child. His advice to the mother asking for help was to remember to tell her son explicitly that the tables are to memorize not to calculate. He had always thought he was supposed to calculate them on the fly but never got any faster. He wished someone would have thought to tell him to memorize them, not to worry about figuring them out.

OH MY WORD. I've talked to multiple friends about the hallmark of John's issues seem to be about not being able to connect the dots. This morning, I sat down with him and shared what I had read. I knew I was on to something immediately. I pointed out that he didn't have to think about what John 3:16 was. He didn't have to look it up. He just had it memorized. He didn't have to remember his address by finding it on a map, he just remembered it. A sparkle began to glimmer.

I got out the flash cards. I reminded him that I was going to do something new, I just needed to know which ones he already had MEMORIZED. If he had to think about them I was going to put them in the don't know stack. In the past, the don't know stack made him very upset. I understand now. He knew them if he was just given enough time. I was simply being impatient according to him, not giving him a chance. So we went through the cards and he basically only had 1's, 2's, and 10's down pat. I put them aside and showed him the don't knows. Because I reiterated that those were the ones that weren't memorized with immediate recall, he tolerated all of this.

Next I picked four cards from the don't knows at random. If learning them in ordered groups was tempting him to count up, I didn't want to repeat the same mistake. I already know that he can recall random facts like where we sat in a restaurant three years ago, so they didn't have to be in any grouping as long as he started memorizing them instead of calculating them.

I placed them on the table and wrote the answers on post-it notes. We stuck the answers to the table and then I mixed up the cards and had him match them to the answers. He did it gleefully about four times. Then I picked them up and had him say the answers as I went through those four in the normal flashcard manner. Small hesitation on one problem but he had them all. I explained what I was doing and why and how there was no pressure if something went in the don't know pile and I added the four new cards to his already knows list. He nailed it.

We went through it twice and he asked to learn four more! In about thirty minutes he had nearly mastered 8 new problems. They were completely chosen at random and I stopped giving him the mnemonic devices and other tricks that had helped me. He doesn't learn like I did.

Aspergers word of the day: connect the dots. Visually probably.

Wherein, I become a bad example.

I'm conflicted. I have a happy, wonderful story to share plus a screw-up I made. I think they are both important, but almost separate stories, though they happened together. I'll start with the good stuff first.

Last night, we took our first ever, family bike ride. We rode about three miles. I think John is somewhat hooked, loathe that he is to admit it. He chose to accompany me on my personal exercise time this morning.

We went back to the Riverpark for another three miles. We had such fun. He didn't fall when starting. His stops were smooth. He was usually ahead of me. I'd catch up and find him stopped at a water fountain or looking at something interesting. I'd just wave and keep plodding. A minute or so later, I'd hear a cheerful bell ringing as he'd pass me on the left. One time he passed me and playfully called, "What, are you taking it easy because you're still getting used to that bike?" I reveled in the happy ease of this time. Not many things with John are easy and fun. I don't see him gleefully (or even willingly) participating like this often.

Another time he stopped and was staring into the woods like a hunting dog on point. I stopped and he said, "I smell frogs..." I laughed and told him I was going to get ahead. A few minutes later we came to a bridge that crossed a sea foam green bog. It was foggy and had gnarled trees jutting up through the green. He was elated. "That's why I smelled frogs!" I explained we needed to go back. He agreed but expressed a desire to come back and explore this area again, soon.

I turned, mounted and started to ride. Behind me I heard a female voice call, "On your left." John had weathered every other passing well, but this time he was in the middle of a start. He still weaves a little on starting. A moment later I hear an agitated "WATCH IT!"

There are times I've wondered if I had that Mama Bear instinct. I'm usually quite calm about my children and their interactions with others. I usually am quick to see the other side, finding at least some fault with my children. John used to sometimes do things like step on someone's foot and when I'd get on to him the adult would say "Oh, it's okay. It didn't hurt." I'd be frustrated because whether it hurt or not wasn't the point. I've stood up for my children before, just in a quietly determined way, instead of a fierce way.

Today, I felt fierce. Here was John just over a week into his biking odyssey, he had been doing so well and he wasn't being a menace. He gets a little confused about left and right and I'm sure he scared this rider as she passed. What I heard was an accusation in her tone, like he was intentionally trying to trip her. I detected disdain. I detected judgment. I was angry at her for interjecting that into our wonderful experience this morning.

I yelled as she passed, "Brand new, special needs rider!!!" She hollered, "What do you want me to do?! Go practice!!!" It's a good thing she was in much better shape than me or I might have chased her down. I thought about yelling that's what we were doing and so forth. I wanted her to come back so I could explain how her tone was inappropriate. I brooded on it for a while as we rode.

I came to quickly realize I had behaved poorly. I was conflicted. Turns out, I am a Mama Bear. But, in fact, my child wasn't in danger and he needs to learn how to respond in these situations so he doesn't actually cause harm to himself or anyone else. I also realized the lady had no idea about John's special needs and was, in all likelihood, scared on top of frustrated.

When we got in the car, I explained I shouldn't have done that for two reasons. I was feeling protective but he was not in danger when I yelled. The other reason was that I had used his special needs as an excuse, which is precisely what I've told him never to do. He agreed and said, he'd been thinking about why I yelled at that lady because he realized I was using an excuse. I apologized and said it was a bad example.

He said, "Mom, I know she was being mean because people usually say 'watch out' when they are being nice and 'watch it' when they are being mean. It's like when I hit Hannah when she does something wrong. You always say you can't get on to her because I get in trouble myself with my hitting. It's a lot like that."

Wow! He seems to be quicker than his mother today in more ways than one. I wonder how many other moms out there of kids with special needs won't allow them to use their diagnosis as a crutch while making excuses for them at the same time. What do you think about that? I'm proud that I'm willing to come fiercely to the defense of my son and I'm embarrassed by my need to explain something unnecessarily in terms of his disability. Have you ever had a similar experience?

Taking Time to Smell the Dogs

We've been very busy around here. The same week John had bike camp, our city's nine-day music festival , Riverbend, started. We were all excited and had already been running on high so we piled in the van in ninety degree temperatures and headed downtown along with tens of thousands of others.

John was immediately unimpressed with the idea. "I hate Riverbend. I hate listening to muuuuuuuuusiiiiiic. I'm not going" with his classic, arms-folded-across the chest maneuver. He loves music. Geez. We reminded him of all the fun he'd had before and just kept on with our plans because we decided a long time ago that we might have to make accomadations for John but he was not going to run the entire household with his ever-changing desires.

He warmed to the idea and started to get excited, though he picked on his sister most of the way there. Then we had to walk a mile and he was livid. He also had to pee. And he was thirsty. OH. MY. WORD. How on earth could we miss that he was thirsty? He informed us of the fact about a million times.

He also stepped in front of us, close enough to trip us, grabbed things out of our arms, back talked, picked on Hannah, complained, and was generally no fun to be with. Let's not forget it was extremely crowded and we didn't know where the port-a-potties were, let alone, the closest place to buy water.

We got some super expensive water and took him to the bathroom but that didn't stem the flow of complaints and insults. He was picking fights even with me, his staunchest supporter. We were rushed along by the pace of the crowd and the desire to see an act and frankly to find some loud music to maybe distract or at least drown out John while juggling three kids and folding bag chairs. We were in a hurry, a little lost and it was getting very frustrating. I asked Theo, after John stepped on my toes, both literally and figuratively, again to take over because I was feeling much less than gracious toward him and he didn't deserve all of my ire. Some of it, maybe, but not all.

Within five minutes, I saw Theo, red-faced, speaking very intensely and pointing at John. I realized we were both about to blow our tops. Something about seeing someone other than me being that angry with him allowed me to feel a little compassion. It frequently happens that way. I think it must just be a quick change in perspective.

I suddenly started thinking Aspergers and realized this was a major assault to his system. Not only had we not given him a verbal or written plan (which generally helps tremendously), he was being bombarded with intense sensory stimulation and the only people in the world who could help him were getting angry and saying mean things in harsh ways toward him. This place was an Asperger nightmare.

I sent Theo on with the Hannah and told him I was okay to deal with John now. He nodded thankfully and huffed away. I completely understood how he felt. I walked over and put my arm around John in what I've learned is a safe way. Too light a touch is received badly, too heavy and he feels trapped. A hand too high on his shoulder and he wrenches his body away and runs. I smiled at him and said, "This is really hard for you, isn't it?"

Immediately, all the hostility melted and I saw my John again. "Yeah Mom!" So I took a few minutes to walk at his pace and explain what we were doing and the plan for the rest of the evening. I also reminded him he could ask for help instead of being mean. I also apologized for being nasty with him. He leaned into me as we walked in the stifling heat but it felt so much better than our relationship just a few minutes before.

As we walked near the stage, John spied this lady with a dog at the top of a rock incline. He asked if he could go say hi to the dog. I hesitated. I wanted to say, "No, John. We are already missing the beginning of this show. Daddy and Hannah are already finding seats and visiting a dog is the last thing I want to do because I'm also hot and tired of walking and ready to sit down. AND I don't feel like rewarding your behavior."

But I thought better of it. What did it matter? We were close enough I could clearly hear the music even though I couldn't see the performers. I could see Theo and motion to him that we were alright and would be there shortly. So I told him sure and reminded him to ask the owner first.

He walked up and spent the next ten minutes having a lively conversation about all the dogs and cats he knows and how important they are to him. He talked about his aunt's dogs, his grandma's dog, the cat we found at the dam. He loved on the dog and returned completely calm and ready to participate. He was grinning, relaxed and happy. He had a positive social interaction, do something self-directed, and got to be with an animal. Ten minutes bought us almost a full evening of peace. It was a good investment.

As I watched him, I found myself calming as well. I realized we were going to have many days at this festival and I actually giggled as I reminded myself of an old saying translated into Aspergers: Take time to smell the dogs.

Oh, I almost forgot to share the dog's name. John said, "Her name is Cemetery. That's an interesting name. Of course, a cemetery is where you bury people so the name must be based on the other meaning."

Pause. Blink. "Um.."

"Mom, what IS the other meaning of the word cemetery?"

"There isn't one, John."

"Oh. Well, it was a cool dog anyway." A beat. "Weird name."

Bike Camp: Day 5 (Run, Forrest, Run)

John woke up on Day 5 keyed up. He was anxious to go to his last day of bike camp. He wanted to see his favorite new friend and wanted to ride his own bike. He was clumsy and speaking fast and a little impulsive.

He marched confidently into the gym and mounted his new bike while it was steadied for him. He promptly hopped off and grabbed his crotch in a most dramatic and graphic way. Some adjustments were made and he tried again, each time raising off the seat and adjusting his privates.

I could see the change in his face. His love for his bike was changing with each lowering of his body onto the bike. But his entourage, once again, pulled it out and he was happily walking his bike to the parking lot. By the time I got outside, I could tell he was frustrated. His bike was a little bigger and heavier than the one he had used for the last two days.

He was having difficulty starting, stopping, wobbling and sitting on the silly seat. One of his faithful volunteers had the idea to run inside and get a gel seat cover to make it softer. John was willing to try again though he was quick to tell me he hated his new bike. He kicked it a few times and tried to ride again.

Things went passably for a few minutes when I noticed three people in yellow shirts running across a large field. UH-OH! John had taken off. It was reminiscent of Forrest Gump. I wondered if he would ever stop. Further, I marveled at his amazing speed and coordination. He unfastened his helmet and threw it to the ground without slowing. My son who normally runs clumsily and heavy-footed, with his head down and his arms straight to his sides was loping across the field, head up, arms pumping. Two tall teenage boys were full out in pursuit and not particularly gaining on him.

I suffered indecision. Do I intervene? Do I let him run until he loses steam? Do I call off the boys and hope that when he isn't being chased that he'll stop panicking and stop a safe distance away (like he usually does) until he is ready to return? At last it looked like his energy was flagging and the boys were starting to close the gap. He turned and planted him self resolutely facing a brick wall and standing between two tall bushes.

The boys greeted him warmly, albeit somewhat breathlessly, and congratulated him on how wonderful and amazing he'd been doing. I think they were also impressed and quite surprised at his running ability. His new friend, fellow camper, came over and was trying to encourage him. The two of them moved off as John was no longer running but still putting as much distance between himself and his confounded new bike.

He went to the gym and locked himself in the boys bathroom. They have staff members just for occasions such as this. Andrea showed up and had a list of solutions to the problems that John had been having. After a great deal of coaxing John came out of the bathroom and spoke to Andrea. As he had calmed to a certain extent, I realized my presence might add to his stress so I returned to the parking lot to let her work her bike training magic.

Finally, they showed up in the parking lot, donned helmets and went back to work. She showed him a new kind of start, called a "power start" which would keep the pedals from hitting him on the ankles. They practiced starting and stopping on his bike and at last he was out making his volunteers chase his blue and chrome streak all over the place.

He even fell at one point, entangling his bike with his 16-year-old victim. We all held our breath waiting for him to bolt. He sucked it up and got right back up on the horse, so to speak. He ended on a high note and we went inside to watch a wonderful slide show of all the successes the campers had this week and to watch them receive gilded bicycle trophies.

Chattanooga Bike Camp works miracles! See ya on the trails!


Bike Camp: Day 1
Bike Camp: Day 2
Bike Camp: Day 3
Bike Camp: Day 4

Bike Camp: Day 4

There was a lot more of the running/biking/sweating. He made a new friend. He learned to start and stop. And a third camper launched by the end of the session.

Bike Camp: Day 3

Day three started just like the other days. He found his coaches, jumped on a bike and started wearing a rut in the floor. He did look just a little more wobbly at first. Maybe they had adjusted his bike again.

About thirty minutes in, I noticed a staff member brought out a two-wheeled bike with a handle attached to the back. I smiled. Oh, someone is going to try to ride a regular bike, I thought. I surveyed the campers and wondered who it might be. I quickly came to the conclusion that the person most likely ready in this session was John. I ran for the camera. Almost before I was back and before he had time to protest, I saw him perched on it as if it were just another in a million laps he'd made already.

A super fast running push (I assume speed helps maintain balance at first?) and she released the handle and I watched my son fly! He took off and enjoyed 5-10 seconds of complete independence as the staff member caught up, grabbed the handled and helped him come to a safe stop. Applause and whoops went up throughout the gymnasium. Tears spilled down my face. And before I had completely enjoyed the moment, John was granted some high fives and was escorted out the door, bike at his side.

I threw the baby on my back in the carrier and took off. By the time I got to the parking lot, he'd already ridden solo again. He spent a very sweaty 45 minutes tearing up the pavement while I snapped photos, posted to facebook, called his father and cried and cried some more.

On two wheels, on pavement, he got faster and faster. The poor volunteers got more and more tired. They gasped as they threw back cups of water between stints of escorting my fledgling. I couldn't believe he was riding a bike on day three.

A staff member came over and instructed me on what kind of bike to purchase. He needed a cruiser style bike. No front brakes because if he started going fast later, he'd have the tendency to brake too hard and throw himself over the handle bars. He needed a low slung frame that he could easily step through. He could either go with 24" or 26" wheels depending on how low the seat could be set. It was important for him to be able to put both feet flat on the ground while sitting on the bike for his sense of security.

And we were off to buy a bike...

Bike Camp: Day 2

On Day 2, John's coach friends greeted him at the door, brought him his helmet and got him right back to work. He rode around, around and around. They ran around, around and around.

At one point, he was switched to riding a very interesting tandem bike and then right back to the grind. 75 minutes were once again taken in constant physical motion. I was prepared with lunch packed in the van for day 2. He was extremely hungry.

I was afraid he might be getting bored going around in circles for so long, so i asked if he was having fun. He said he was tire of having to work so hard and getting blisters on his butt, but it was all worth it "making those guys run." He would go faster and faster trying to get away from them and taunt them by yelling over his shoulder things like, "Run, slave, run!" and "Haul your booty!"

There was also some diabolical laughter involved.

Bike Camp: Day 1

The staff and volunteers at the Chattanooga Bike Camp of Lose the Training Wheels were amazing. I had concerns John might run away or refuse to participate, but he got right in and started working.

They put him on a funny-looking bike adjusted to fit him just so and he was assigned a very special set of teenage volunteers who pledged to stay by his side for the next five days.

Day one, he rode for 75 minutes, stopping a couple of times to get a swig of water while his bike was adjusted to become almost imperceptibly more wobbly. He would hop back in the saddle and his trusty sidekicks talked and encouraged him through endless laps about the gym. Occasionally one of the staff members would call everyone to switch directions to keep from developing an inability to turn right, I suppose. As John's balance, confidence and coordination improved rapidly, his entourage found they had to take turns resting after jogging to keep up with him.

While John experienced his odyssey, several other campers were on journeys of their own. They were cheered on by siblings, parents, volunteers, staff members and previous campers as everyone worked so hard to lose those training wheels. Everyone had exactly as many attendants and adaptations as were necessary for that individual. It was fascinating to watch everyone work together to make it possible for each camper to achieve the most independence possible.

Although, I could see John improving and having a great time, I still wasn't quite sure how this process was going to get him on a two-wheeled bike by the end of the week.

Water Rights

So, John loves baths. He runs all the hot water in the entire house into a bath and has no qualms about not stopping when the water reaches the level of the overflow hole. He fills it to the brim with the hottest water possible and sinks down until only his nose and eyes remain above the water. He loves to soak for long periods of time that way. (Don't ask him to use soap or shampoo. That's another post entirely.) Then he likes to air dry for about twenty minutes.

Therefore, he's only allowed to have baths on Saturday morning. The rest of the week, the water is needed for additional people and he has a schedule to adhere to. The rule is that he is to set his watch timer for ten minutes and then get out and get on with his day.

On weekdays, my Mother-in-law who lives in an apartment downstairs, helps get the kids up and gives them breakfast. It's a great setup. I get to exercise and she gets out of a monthly bill we pay in her stead. It's cheaper than a gym membership and of more benefit to me. She was out of town for a week and my niece was visiting so we've been off schedule. John was sleeping in and getting baths more frequently.

This morning, she woke John up and ten minutes later went to knock on the bathroom door only to discover he had run a bath for the last ten minutes. She reminded him it was a shower day. It was obvious he had made a legitimate mistake. She said, "Okay, well, it's time to go ahead and get out so you can get everything else done."

That's where things started to go south. He understood he had messed up. But the rule, according to him, is that he gets a 10 minute shower. Since he had run this magnificent bath, he was entitled to soak for 10 minutes. So he curtly told her, under no uncertain terms, he was not getting out until his timer went off.

I was still around instead of exercising because I had sensed a disturbance in the force. This was one of those sticky situations that if it wasn't handled in a certain way would color the rest of our day. I consulted with Theo and started to write out the situation for John. Writing is easier for him to accept than my voice usually.

But I realized the issue was too convoluted for written word at that moment. I had already decided he would have to pay the ten minutes back in some way. In my conversation with Theo he mentioned we should also deal with defiance. I was disturbed by the word and a small argument ensued.

My issue was that while, yes, he deliberately disobeyed his grandmother, he wasn't doing it to be defiant. I know that sentence makes no sense. It certainly didn't to Theo. The deal is, yes, the action was defiant, but John, when I try to explain the situation to him and garner a more respectful attitude is never going to agree that he was defiant.

He wasn't disobeying his grandmother intentionally, he was operating under a set of rules that in his mind were set in stone, albeit to his own advantage. He doesn't quite so rigidly obey rules that don't suit him, of course. In John's world, the word he would understand based on previous interactions, was inflexible. He wouldn't buy that he was being defiant, but I was sure I could logically argue that he was being inflexible. I realize now that I had been speaking Aspergers to my husband and I should have been speaking neuro-typical.

Sure enough, when I found John air drying and lounging in his room with his towel thankfully wrapped about his waist, he was confused by all the hullabaloo surrounding his actions. I had had time to calm down before I went in his room. I explained first of all that the reason behind the rule was not only that he used too much hot water but that he also wasn't able to complete his morning routine on time seeing as how he was supposed to be sitting down at breakfast at 7:30. We both noted he was sitting in a towel, undressed at 7:36. He was nowhere near finished with his routine.

For the first time since this started, his expression switched from one of bewildered self-righteousness to a little sheepish. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that part. Good point."

I had him firmly in my parental grasp. Speaking Aspergers is so much more rewarding than screaming, insisting and getting angry. That usually results in the opposite of what I want to happen.

I decided to steal another base.

"When you used up your ten minutes running the bath, you used more hot water than ten minutes in the shower. Your father's shower right now is a little cool."

*More generalized sheepishness*

"You were also rude to your grandmother. She was trying to help you stay on your routine. When she pointed out what you did wrong, you should have listened to her instructions in order to make it right even though it was a horrible shame to lose the wonderful bathwater you just ran. This is one of those times where..."

He joined in with the familiar phrase, "I should have been flexible."

HOMERUN!!!!!!!!!!!!

I explained that he would have to take his banana and eat it while he read in order to be done with reading at 8:30. He understood it was necessary and not unreasonable to get back on schedule. I also told him he would have to pay back the ten minutes in some way. He completed the rest of his routine quickly and politely.

I went to get a shower. I was wracking my brain trying to decide how to have him pay it back. I mean, I've learned that instituting consequences don't influence his behavior in the future but I felt like he'd inconvenienced people and I shouldn't let it go. Mid-shampoo, a word drifted through my mind: retribution.

That was it. About a month ago, we introduced John to the concept. It's not a consequence so much as a tool to make it up to the person you have wronged. In our family, we all subconsciously attempt to make retribution when we mess up. We've explained it to John as taking just a few minutes to repair the relationship with a person you've wronged. It backs up your verbal apology with an action apology.

I decided that he probably owed several of us retribution this morning but the person who deserved it most was his grandmother. I suggested the ten minutes belonged to her when I had them both in the room. They were both on board.

John said, "Oh yeah, this is like doing charity work."

I hesitated, "Ummmm, no... more like..."

John's mental lightbulb was nearly visible, "Oh, it's more like when you are a drunk driver and you can either go to jail to be punished or pay back the community by wearing one of those vests and cleaning up litter!"

Ok. Yes, I think that works. He was excited and walked over to his grandmother and offered a heart-felt apology which she accepted. We decided she didn't have ten minutes of work available for him right now but she had a few minor less-than-a-minute jobs he could do over the next several days. So we are keeping an index card with ten x's on it. He can circle an x when he's carried her trash or recycling out or helped put away her groceries.

Relationship restored. And maybe the flexibility has been ever so slightly increased?

Word of the day: Retribution. Consequences that serve a purpose other than getting back at the disobedient child but aren't necessarily aimed at preventing the future behavior. All that time explaining and coming to an understanding is what does that.

Dramatic Results with Role-Play

Occasionally, we would role-play in different classes in high school and in college. I always just accepted it as a potentially valuable tool but most of the time it fell flat. I would inwardly roll my eyes when I knew it was an up-coming exercise. I much preferred auditory examples, stories, to aid in my assimilation of new materials.

That said, on my last wit's end this afternoon, I took a deep Mommy breath and mentally groaned (like when I have to clean vomit) as I facilitated a role-playing exercise between two of my children.

How did I get to that place? Well, since you asked...

John (11) and Hannah (4) have been at each other's throats for months. She picks at him and pushes his buttons. He flies off the handle and tries to parent her. She responds with high annoyance, girlie screeches and tattling. Then he hits her.

Well, no, he would say he technically didn't hit her because that would be wrong. Instead he kicked her, or pushed her, or held her down, or ruffled her hair in a roughly loving manner. I think he attended Asperger School of Law. So of course, I've learned to simply say, "Did you touch your sister inappropriately?"

Well, yes, that he did.

It was no different today. And frankly, we are all at the edges of our tempers. It's hard to feel sorry for the whiny little bully but you can't exactly feel bad for the huge guy using his size to control another person. As soon as one of us starts to get onto him he screams, runs away in panic, sometimes kicking and throwing and telling us horrible things about his sister. While we are trying to get rid of tattling in our house, we have to protect them from physically harming one another and let's face it, they aren't equally matched.

We've been praying. Others have been praying for us. I've been reading books to help with Hannah's issues, John's issues, sibling issues, my issues and so on. Nothing seems to have quite hit the nail on the head to get him to keep his hands off his sister long enough we can work through any issues whatsoever.

In exasperation, I lined their chairs up in a row facing my chair in our homeschool room. I usually do nothing quite that formal. I called them both in the room with an I-mean-business-Mama-roar. I decided I was going to ask them what we should do. They stared blankly at me and then started pointing fingers once again.

They were mean. I felt mean. I realized we've all been too mean for a while. I told them we were all going to be the nice police. We were going to help each other be nice. I thought I'd go through what they were supposed to do (ONCE AGAIN) instead of doing what I normally do which is to tell them what they aren't supposed to do.

I suddenly realized my stories and scenarios were going nowhere. They'd heard it all before. In a moment of inspiration (perhaps I should say desperation) I told John to go get his iPod. This is his most prized possession. I handed it to him and told Hannah to grab it out of his hand. His face turned red. He snarled at her. He kind of made a swipe at her.

Uh, whoa. He wasn't acting. I asked how he felt. He was shaking and said he was angry and sad. He knew it was pretend, but he felt the emotions nonetheless. I instructed her to hand it back. We talked the scenario through again and then tried it.

Hannah snatched the ipod. He was slightly more in control this time and looked to me for help. "Tell her, 'Hey, I was using that. Please give it back.'"as I modeled a calm tone. He did.

But I told her to say, "No! NEVER!" I could see the panic welling in his eyes.

Then I said, "Now, here is where you come to me and say, 'Mom' and wait for me to look at you. Then you say, 'I need help with a situation.'" After all this time, I stumbled onto a way for the kids to tell me they had a problem without tattling.

I came up to them and noticed Hannah was clutching the iPod tightly to her chest. I looked at John and asked, "Does your situation involve the ipod?" He nodded. I looked at Hannah and said, "May I please have the ipod? Thank you, I will put it over here until we've decided what happens next. Now, do you want to work this out on your own or do you want me to supervise?"

John wanted supervision. Then I asked who had been using the ipod. They both answered they were. I told John, "Here's where you tell Hannah, it doesn't matter because neither one of us has it now." He did, but he immediately followed with, "Hannah, I only had ten minutes left on my movie. If you want to use it when I am done, you can."

I believe my jaw dropped. Hannah breathed, "For real?" in wonder.

We practiced a few more scenarios. John noted that even when I grabbed the dried-up, useless highlighter out of his hand he felt angry and upset. But when Hannah asked to see the ipod, he handed it over without any negative feelings.

I'm still processing how role-play affected him. I'm blown away how he was actually learning experientially through a process I had previously determined a frustration, at best.

About an hour later, John came up to me in the kitchen. He said, "Mom" and waited until I turned. I figured he was going to ask for more food. Instead he said he needed help with a situation, like it was something he'd been doing for years. "Tell me what's going on."

"Well, Hannah's sitting on my lap and doing all these little blah blah noises and its driving me nuts."

"That would drive me nuts too. You have every right to tell her that you'd love to have her sit on your lap but she is not welcome if she makes those sounds." I paused. She had been sitting on his lap and he hadn't tried to kill her? "Do you want her on your lap?"

"No. Not really."

"Oh, then you should tell her that you don't want her to sit on your lap right now."

He left. No fireworks. My jaw got quite the workout this afternoon.

When I speak his language, he catches on unbelievably fast. That's part of the frustration. He'll be back to his normal antics tomorrow and he will have to relearn his new conflict resolution skills. But that's okay. I have a new Aspergers vocabulary word.

Say it with me: Role-Play.

Waffling Emotions

John has a morning routine. This includes taking a shower, stripping and washing his sheets (he wets), starting laundry, turning off lights, taking medicine and breakfast prep. It took years to get him used to taking a shower in the morning. He would scream "no!" fume and stomp around the house upwards of an hour each morning, but somehow we made it through and now you couldn't block him with an armed tank from taking his morning shower.

Other parts of the routine however, are a little less, um, routine. He's mastered most of it and it runs very smoothly except the breakfast prep. We aren't talking about a hard job. He usually is supposed to unload clean dishes from the dishwasher or set the table or whatever odd job that I might deem helpful on a certain morning. He's been a little slow in the mornings so he hasn't had time to help. Unfortunately, on days when he does, he is insistent that he should not help, does not have to, and certainly could not do any work.

Like most of John's chores, if I give him a break, it is extremely hard to get him started again. It is not received as a favor. So this week, after strong resistance the other morning I've been saving little jobs for him to do before breakfast.

This morning, I let him sleep in a little. (Favor which is not received as a favor.) When he got in his shower, I started making waffles, homemade-from-scratch-gluten-free waffles. I also made some hot tea, which he loves.

I could already tell he was a little agitated from the first moment. I'm not sure what set him off, but I was about to set him off more. I greeted him and spoke sweetly and calmly. I reminded him to finish his routine and he went about it. Just before he sat down, I mentioned that the dishwasher wasn't very full so it would be easy for him to unload.

You would have thought I had offered to cut off a limb. He screamed no and ran out of the kitchen banging into two walls in his hurry to get away. He kicked a box of picnic supplies and started screaming and yelling.

I've learned when he's like that, just to a wait a few minutes instead of chasing him or yelling. That only escalates it and makes me more angry than a parent should be. So I continued mixing and cooking. I almost unloaded the dishwasher three times but reminded myself he needed to do his job.

He calmed in a couple of minutes and returned to the kitchen and he acted as if nothing was unusual. I mentioned breakfast was getting close to ready and he could get the dishwasher done pretty quickly. Then the barrage of insults and complaints began.

"You just want me to be your slave."

"I can't put the dishes away. I hate that job."

"You never do anything for me."

"I hate waffles."

"You just want me to do this stuff because you are too lazy to do it yourself. You have plenty of time to do it while you cook.... but noooooo, you are saving it for meeeee..."

These were all flung out in nearly incomprehensible bursts. My frustration and anger were mounting as I tried to remind myself that he isn't doing any of this to be a jerk. And trust me, we've been through the gamut of behavioral discipline techniques but through time I've learned some things about Aspergers and some things about John. I waited. I continued cooking. Hannah and Cote and I enjoyed our breakfast amid claims that I was cruelly starving the poor boy.

Five minutes into breakfast, he quietly got up and started unloading the dishwasher. He was still working as I got up and started to clean the kitchen. Since he had calmed, I had the time to point out how hurtful he had been to me and how I was already doing some of his after-meal chores. He sweetly said "Thank you mom for all you do for me." He asked if I could warm his waffles up and I did. He said they were yummy as he snuck a taste from the plate on the counter. Before that he had claimed he didn't like my nasty old waffles anyway.

I pointed out that he seemed agitated this morning and he told me he wasn't sure what was wrong but that he couldn't sit still so much. It is important to note that he was standing at the time and was milling about the kitchen and I hadn't told him to stop. I offered him a hug and he hung on for dear life, which is pretty intense from a 5'2" tall boy. I also took the opportunity to remind him he can ask for a hug instead of waiting for me to offer one. He nodded and was humble, sweet, kind, even remorseful.

I feel like sometimes when he is like that, that I should DO SOMETHING to make him behave. I know I would never have talked to my mother that way. I know I've done everything to him that my mother did to me and it hasn't worked. But yet, I feel like people are always looking over my shoulder shocked that I'd allow him to "get away with" these things. I used to consequence everything and we even implemented "home jail" with the blessing of his therapist. But those things never served any purpose except to make everyone more angry and John to become more disrespectful and disobedient than before.

But when I start to second guess like I did this morning, I find the Biblical parable of the two sons coming to mind. The father asks the first son to work for him and that son says no. But later changes his mind and works anyway. The father asks the second son who says yes but doesn't end up doing it. Jesus asks which one did the will of the father. Obviously, it was the one who first said no but did the job anyway. It comforts me that maybe we aren't failing as much as it feels at the moment.

Aspergers Vocabulary Word of the Day: Wait.

Ask and wait. Observe and wait. Instruct and Wait. Don't react, wait.

I'll need to practice this one frequently, to get it through my thick skull.

Lose the Training Wheels

Today, I signed John up the "Lose the Training Wheels -- Bike Camp." I'm very excited. John is very anxious. This is a special five day bike camp for children with special needs to learn how to ride two-wheeled bikes.

He wanted to ride a bike years ago. He doesn't want to any more. He doesn't think he can. He has found something in his mind that is an acceptable substitute. It took two years, but he mastered his two-wheeled scooter. He can participate with other children, lean into the curves and feel the wind on his face.

He isn't interested in trying his hand at a bike that puts him further from the ground and in much less control. He tried when he was four or five and his lack of coordination coupled with the fact that he was big enough he had to move beyond the toddler bike he had previously, and in his mind, he learned he wasn't capable or interested in riding a bike.

But our family wants to go on bike rides. We have a legacy of bike riding. I have warm, fuzzy daydreams where we all bike to a park together and enjoy a picnic lunch. I imagine him finding a group of children at a campground and being able to keep up as they tool around the place. He doesn't want to understand he can go faster and further with less work on a bicycle than on a scooter.

Thanks to Lose the Training Wheels, my fantasy may come true this summer.

John watched several videos and he's come to grips with the fact I've signed him up. He's also been told he only has to watch until he's ready to try. He feels much less anxious knowing that but I know he will be gung ho within a few minutes. I just about can't wait for June 6.

Chattanooga Bike Camp Facebook Page

Lose the Training Wheels

What's a Pider-shishie?

When John was three, we were waiting for a table in a restaurant. He climbed up on a bench and was pointing out the window, saying "Pider-Shishie, Pider-Shishie!!!" in an inappropriately loud and exuberant manner. As his mother, I knew I was the only likely candidate to figure out what this utterance meant. He desperately wanted me to share in his revelation.

I had a two-fold translation issue. John had some mild articulation difficulties so I first had to figure out what he was trying to say. Then, I had to figure out what he meant.

My eyes darted from place to place through the window. I couldn't fathom what he was so excited about. The first translation finally dawned on me: Spider Fishie. OHHHHH! Ok, now, what the heck is a spider-fishie?

At last, I spy the restaurant across the street: Red Lobster. You know, it kinda looks like a spider and it lives in water. "John, do you see the sign for Red Lobster!" Yes, that was right! He exulted and started walking his fingers up the back of the bench and across my face and on the walls.

I marveled at the way he so brilliantly defined something out of the words he had available to him. He would do this again and again as he got older. My husband and I said many times that he just sees the world in such a different way than everyone else. When we saw things from his unique perspective, it always made perfect sense.

We didn't realize how well we actually knew him. He DOES see the world differently. He was diagnosed this year, at age 11, with Aspergers syndrome. I realize, all along, I've been trying to learn to speak John so that he can share his brilliant observations with the world and to communicate to him how the rest of the world works. Knowing he has Aspergers is like suddenly being given a language to language dictionary. It doesn't mean I speak the language like a native, but it does mean I have a readily available and immensely helpful reference for communicating with John.

I'd like to welcome you to join me as I continue to learn to speak Aspergers from my son and discover all the amazing pider-shishies along the way.