Here, pick a label!

Ah, basketball! The cheerful sound of a ball slam-slam-slamming incessantly on the floor. The energetic screeching of sneakers. The thumpity-thumping of little feet crashing across the room like a herd of angry miniature horses. Children yelling joyfully, parents barking at them to "pay attention."

Nothing here that could possibly overstimulate the child with ... unique sensory processing. Nope, nothing at all.

But what do you do if that child DOES become overstimulated?

It's time for the first ever round of What Kind of Special Needs Mom Are You?, a blog post comprised primarily of questions.

Do you tell people about an "invisible disability?" And when is it appropriate? Do you gather everyone together and boom "YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS" or do you pull someone aside and whisper?

Or do you just put an autism awareness shirt on your kid and figure it'll be obvious that way?
Easy Out Mom

Do you just wait and see whether your son manages to pass as normal?
Anything Could Happen Mom

Do you come armed with educational materials about autism in order to head it off at the pass?
Activist Mom

Do you remain within arm's length at all times in an attempt to control his behavior?

Helicopter Mom

Do you back off in the hopes that he will pay more attention to the coaches than he does to you, the parent?
Wishful Thinking Mom

Do you mention it, apologetically, to the mom who seems frustrated that her kid got paired up with YOURS?
Shame on you, Mom. Shame on you both.

Do you mention it, optimistically, to the mom of the kid you think is also special needs?
Nosey Mom

Do you just nod when someone sympathetically reassures you that he'll "get better at sharing" if you keep coming back?

Weary Mom

Do you wait until your son is crying with his face pressed against the floor because he didn't make a basket and he doesn't get to pick up the purple cone and run it across the gym and get a high five for making a "point"?
Frazzled Mom

Do you wait until the meltdown at the water fountain? Everyone's watching ... it would be a great time for a public announcement.
Monologue Mom

Do you tell them while he's having a meltdown because it's time to leave and he wants to stay in his gym clothes... his shorts... even though it's January and freezing outside?
Mom with the Frozen Kid


I, of course, did not utter the word "autism" or "Asperger's." I hate labels.

Elliott Says (part 4)

Noticing a Trio creation left lying in the living room, I pick it up and observe the handle and long muzzle. I come to an obvious conclusion.

"MUST little boys make everything into guns??" I sigh, exasperated, and turn to my husband and son who are sitting on the couch.

"Mommy, you found my pretend flute!"

Elliott rushes over to rescue his precious instrument.

Toodly kazoo noises follow.

Christmas Reflections, continued

On Santa

Around Thanksgiving, we started hearing talk from our little one about Santa coming.
We .. don't do Santa.
I thought it would be a very simple matter to say "he's pretend. It's fun to pretend, isn't it?"
It was not that easy. The culture of Santa permeates far and near, and it's a hard discussion"Mom," he said, condescendingly, "he's REAL."

We read the book on St. Nicholas. We talked about St. Nicholas. He was a very nice man. But he's dead now. Mommy and Daddy give you all your presents.

Aaaand then we ran into Santa out at the Christmas carnival. Handing out candy canes. Not looking very dead at all.
"What would you like for Christmas, little guy?"
"A pink and purple bus that sparkles."
"Ooookaaayyy--- you know, I've never heard a boy ask for THAT! Ho! Ho! Ho!"
Thanks for the candy cane.

Why don't we do Santa? I have a little guy with an autism spectrum disorder! He gets very tripped up by intangible nonsene (such as Santa Claus). It's also my job as a parent to help instill faith in him and give him the ability to make good decisions on his own someday, and to stand up for truth and justice! I have a valid concern that telling a black-and-white thinker that Santa is real and gives you presents, and then ripping that fantasy away from him at some point, be a bad idea if I want him to teach him about real Truth. Pretty serious thoughts, I know. Overanalyzing? Who, me?

But he really wanted someone to tell him Santa was real, even if that person wasn't me.

So he asked the lady stocking shelves in Payless shoes, he asked the dental hygienist, he asked the cashier at Penneys, he asked his grandparents, he asked his aunts and uncles, he asked his teachers, he asked his friends.

He asked me how Santa was going to put presents under the tree, since we didn't have a chimney.
"He's not real," I explained, "but if he was, he wouldn't be able to come in anyway, because the pipe to our pellet stove is too small for him to fit through."
It was a grinchy thing to say, but it didn't phase him.
He suggested Santa could come in through the sliding door in the back.
I didn't answer.

A week later he asked us about getting a Criss Cross Crash for Christmas (big noisy racecar track). We had already purchased it, but we thought it would be fun to keep him guessing.
"I don't know, bud, it looks like all the stores around here are out of it!"
"Oh, that makes sense," he reasoned. "They needed to give all the good toys to Santa Claus because SANTA BRINGS ALL THE TOYS!"

I said nothing, because it's just cruel to snuff out a child's innocent joy.

It's all those magical, warm-fuzzy Christmas movies, isn't it. They tell us that grownups are too old and tired to believe in the marvelous wonderful truth of Santa.

Was it beginning to melt my cold, grinchy exterior? Was my heart going to grow two sizes and practically explode out of my chest?

Christmas came and there were no presents from Santa.

He asked if I was sure all these presents were from us.
"Yes," I said and pointed to where the tags said Mommy or Daddy, or both.
I received a concerned little look in response.

Later, in the car he asked why Santa didn't come. He seemed sad. I relented.

"Elliott, he's not real, but... " and here I sighed big "... but you know what? We didn't write him a letter. Kids are supposed to send their letters to the North pole so Santa knows what to bring. Next year, I guess, we can write to him." Even though he's not real.

Dear Santa,

Don't expect any milk and cookies.

You're a nice man, but you're dead.

Love,

Helen

Babies and Boobies and Basketballs

We'd been talking about Mary's journey to Bethlehem, and how uncomfortable she must have been, and also a little scared.  When we got to this part in our Advent preparation last year, I remember him having a lot of "babies" and "bellies" questions then, too. Oh, and let me preface this by saying I am not pregnant. I'm not being coy and hinting that I might really be. I'm not. If you saw me downing Riesling at Christmas, you know, without a doubt, that I am NOT with child, and not even gosh, giggle, maybe soon. Nope. I was throwing them back So without further ado:

Elliott has clearly been mulling over the whole Christmas-is-about-baby-Jesus-being-born thing, and had this to say about it:

"Mom, I think a baby is going to pop out of your tummy."
"I think you're wrong!"
"But babies come out of ladies' tummies." Hops up next to me, gently jogging in place on the couch.
"Well, all babies come from a lady's belly, but not all ladies' bellies have babies inside of them."
"Oh." He looks confused and slides onto the floor. I try to explain better.
"OK ok, you know how you can tell? Sometimes, if you see a lady who looks like she has a basketball in her tummy, she's actually having a baby."
*stares at me critically. I stare back, willing him not to say I that look like I have a basketball tummy*
"Mom." Looking at me over the top of his glasses. Don't say it, don't say it...
"What."
"What about these basketballs?" *points at my chest and starts jumping in place again*
My first response is to be candid and say that they're much smaller and not even the same shape- but I realized in time that it wasn't really where a mom ought to steer the conversation.
Rather, I said "WHAT? Um, I mean. That's not a baby. Those are boobies and I don't use them unless I have to give a baby nursies. Remember you used to be littler and you used to have nursies? That's what those are for." Yes, that's all anyone uses them for, no more questions, please...
He mulls this over while doing a headstand against the back of the couch, using one hand to grope at his own chest.
"Mom, I have boobs, too!"
"Yes, but you're a boy, so you don't really use them the same way. You'll probably never give a baby nursies."

... did I just say 'probably'?

Yes. I don't always think so well on my feet.

Elliott says (part 3)

With Aunt Marybeth:

Marybeth (reading with Elliott) – “how does the triceratops protect himself?
Elliott, “he eats plants.”
Marybeth, “Yes, he does eat plants, but how does he PROTECT himself?”
Elliott, “He’s twenty feet long.”
Marybeth, “Yes…”

Regarding the new house:
“Elliott, that is NOT allowed in our house!”
After thinking for a minute, “Hey mom, can we get a new house?”

On Drinkin’
Drinking cider with Elliott. "Mom! This cider is RARY good. It's 100 Proof!"
Me, eyebrow raised "100 proof? Where did you learn about juice being 100 proof?"
Elliott, casually, "The grape juice at school says '100 proof' on it."

At the dentist:
Hygienist, “So what’s your FAVORITE color?”
Elliott, adjusting his glasses and replying matter of factly. “Well, God maked me. And God maked me like pink and purple. Those are my favorite colors.”

On The Lord:
‎"Mom, what's Holly Lou?"
"Hallelujah is something people say when they're praising God. How do YOU praise God?"
"Like rabbits."
No hesitation whatsoever.

Holding a stuffed bunny as it "talks" in falsetto, "I have buttons. Jesus made me. And the Whole. Wide. World. See ya tomorrow!!!"

Interesting Perceptions
That China is a land full of toys, because so many of his toys are Made In China. Leading to this very logical question:
“Mom, are DOGS made in China?”

After Halloween
Elliott holding up candy bar "Hi, my name is ButterFinger! What's yours?"
Me: "My name is Butterfinger EATER!"
Elliott, "No. Your name is Mommy. And it's a BEAUtiful name."
Awwwww.

Thanksgiving Morning
Elliott, hopping out of our bed "MOM! the clock says Seven-One-Four!"
Me, from under a pillow, "And what does that mean?"
Elliott: "IT'S THURSDAY!"

Things you might not expect at dinnertime
“Sour cream gives me super powers!”
*rubs it into his hands*

Love-Story
Elliott: "My books came in at school today!"
Me: "I can't wait to read them with you!"
Elliott: "Oh, you love me?"

Another kind of story
"Mommy, tonight I want to tell YOU a story.”
“OK Elliott, go for it.”
"There once was a little boy named Elliott. And he did NOT WANT TO BE OBEDIENT.”

The End.

Elliott Says (Part 2)

Putting Elliott to bed a few nights ago:

"Mommy, do you have a big [boy parts]?"

"No, I'm made a little differently than you are."
I begin panicking and pray PLEASE don't ask for more details PLEASE don't ask.--

"Oh, your pee pee is in the back and you poop in the front?"

"Um, no, that part is the same. Hey, isn't Toy Story 3 coming out tomorrow?"

---------------------------------------------------

Singing a song from Children's church...

Who's in church today, church today, church today
Who's in church today
What's your name?
Kintzakahoon!
HIIiiii Kintzakahoon!!!

Who's in church today, church today, church today

Who's in church today
What's your name?
Pujo-Pujo!
HIIiiii Pujo-pujo!!!


Aaaaannnd on and on with the unpronounceable names :P

----------------

You probably had to be there, and hear him say it, to realize what a compliment this was:

"I love my mommy and my daddy and my grandma and my aunt Marybeth and ... I LOVE MY OLD GRAY POPPOP!"

On your mark, Get set, PRAY!

One of the things that we do, as Christians, is pray. We routinely pray before bed and meals. One of the things that we do NOT do, as non-denominational Christians, is the sign of the cross, or genuflecting, or that sort of thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I was raised with the sign of the cross… but if Elliott starts doing that, he’s really going to look like an oddball among his evangelical peers, and we prefer to conform. Ha ha.


Actually, it’s nothing I’ve ever given a lot of thought to, until now.

Living with my parents means family mealtime, and a big family prayer. Before last night, there was always comedy at prayer time, but it was usually because Michael tended to get the spot next to Dad, and then when everyone went to hold hands and pray, there would be that awkward moment.

Last night, Elliott watched my parents do the sign of the cross before praying, and decided to give it a try. (This should give you some insight as to what goes on in the mind of a curious four year old.)

He rapidly fanned himself while yelling “On your mark, get set, GO!” rattled out a prayer before anyone could say a word, and then smacked his hands together with gusto and shouted “AMEN!”

Elliott says

As we wait for Daddy to come home from work.

Elliott says, "Mommy, I love Daddy."

I reply, "I love him, too. That's why I married him."

"Oh, can I get married?"

"Well, when you grow up, maybe you will meet a nice lady."

"But Mommy, when I grow up, I am going to be a dog."
==================================================

Elliott has just been put in time out. Through his tears, the stubborn little boy is trying to think of something shocking to say to me. Out of that sweet little mouth comes his version of cussing, a line from Toy Story:

"S-s-s-omeone's p-p-oisoned the WATER HOLE!" he sputters.

Different day, but again, in Time Out.

Me "Time out, mister! When the [digital] timer looks like oh oh oh, you can get off of the chair."

Elliott matter-of-factly correct me: "Zero zero zero"

===================================================

Describing a sunset:
"And the sun climbed up a ladder and SPLATTED on the window!"

===================================================

Elliott's version of following directions.

Mommy says "How many times do I have to ask you to do something, before you actually do it?"

Elliott, thinking, "Four."

===================================================

So, we get "Go Potty Go" from the library, hoping for a poop breakthrough. We didn't get one. But he did like the potty song. The potty song goes like this:
"Babies need diapers, and that's okay. I'd rather be a big kid doing big kid stuff all day."

Elliott's version goes like this "Babies eat diapers and nuts. OK?" And then he trails off..."Mommy does Gwynnie [younger cousin] eat popcorn? She eats butter in her mouth."

===================================================

Preschool teacher to me, "Elliott told us you're having a baby. Congratulations!!"

Me "What."

===================================================

Elliott receives a balloon animal at a Christmas festival. He peers at it intently. At last, he speaks.

Er, bellows.

"I AM A TALKING ELEPHANT. I WANT TO GET PAID."

====================================================

Age is one of those intangible things. When in doubt, just change it.

"I'm 21, Daddy, can I have a drink of a beer?"

"I'm 12 now Mommy, I'm just going to sit in the front seat, ok?"

"Can I drive? I am 16."

"Mommy, I'm 4, I can have coffee now!"

Yeah, that last one... we may have told him that it's cool for 4 year olds to drink coffee. You know, when he was 3 and that 4 year old mark was just eons away.