Broken CPU

We spent nearly four hours in emergency room last night. Our eldest crushed our youngest's finger in the bedroom door and less than 15 frenzied minutes later we were sitting, sitting, sitting, as one is likely to do in an emergency room. Much to his credit, our youngest took it all in stride, much better than the rest of us. Mama was crying, daddy was crying -- heck, we were all crying. Even our big guy. And that's where my mind has been stuck since those first screams pierced the air just after dinner last night.

One area that is always particularly troubling with our son is his lack of response to situations of high emotion. I recall, the evening before we were to meet with our pediatrician to discuss what we thought was an attachment disorder, skimming through a book and catching a paragraph concerning Asperger Syndrome, a form of high-functioning autism. It gave the example of a child on a playground who, after witnessing another child getting injured, continues to play. When the ambulance arrives, while the other children gather in concern, this child pays no heed. I remember calling my mom and telling her that THIS was my son. It was the very first time I ever considered the possibility of autism.

The door was completely closed when I arrived at my screaming son's side, his finger pinned in the hinge-side. I threw open the door, letting out a shriek as I saw the mangled finger, but also mindful of my eldest son, cowering in the corner just behind the door. It went without saying that he was the responsible party. This was not the first time the two had battled with a door between them, slammed in the heart-broken face of the littlest one. The warning of the injury that could result is definitely one of the more commonly heard in our house.

As with so many of his developmental milestones, it is only in recent months that I have EVER heard my son apologize with any sense of feeling. In fact, it is rare for him to show any emotion whatsoever in response to causing injury. Folks with autism really have to work hard to capture the emotion of a situation. He is usually so wrapped up in explaining his reasoning for his behavior that he completely misses the point. This night was not to be one of those rare occasions.

Following the rushed explanation as we tore out the driveway, his main concern was whether the events we had lined up for the evening would continue as planned. His father and I were not shocked by this line of thinking, we'd experienced it countless times before. The struggle for us comes in how to respond. In the hysteria of the moment, we usually -- and this circumstance was no different -- want to burn in his mind the gravity of the situation. It is so difficult not to berate him with "can't-you-see"s and "don't-you-understand-how"s. (Last night, thankfully, we did not.) He doesn't connect with that anyway. We think he experiences guilt, but we can't fathom how. And we don't think he understands it either. (Someday I will post my thoughts, a heart-wrenching mess though they may be, on the what it is like to approach subjects of a spiritual nature with my son. Right now there are no words, only Romans 8:26-27.)

So what do we do? We explain the cause and the effect of the behavior. We make sure he realizes his responsibility in the situation. And we just let him process. Because that's what he needs to do. It could take hours, sometimes it has taken a number of days. We are learning what to look for, what cues to pick up on. And its clear he is still working through this one.

______

On a related note, an interesting read is the novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, by Mark Haddon, though it must be read with discernment. The most poignant piece for me is the autistic main character's explanation as to why he avoids/cuts short social interactions -- it is when that interaction ceases to be productive for his purposes that he considers it to be no longer of value, so he simply walks away. This one revelation has proven to be invaluable to me. Again, read this book at your own discretion.

A Life of Faith

"Living a life of faith means never knowing where you are being led. But it does mean loving and knowing the One Who is leading. It is literally a life of faith, not of understanding and reason -- a life of knowing Him Who calls us to go. Faith is rooted in the knowledge of a Person, and one of the biggest traps we fall into is the belief that if we have faith, God will surely lead us to success in the world.
The final stage of faith is the attainment of character, and we encounter many changes in the process. We feel the presence of God around us when we pray, yet we are only momentarily changed. We tend to keep going back to our everyday ways and the glory vanishes. A life of faith is not a life of one glorious mountaintop experience after another, like soaring on eagles' wings, but is a life of day-in and day-out consistency; a life of walking without fainting (see Isaiah 40:31). It is not even a question of the holiness of sanctification, but of something which comes much further down the road. It is a faith that has been tried and proved and has withstood the test." - Oswald Chambers

*New post later today on Tuesday Adoption*

Oh, Mama!

He bounds out of the door before we are even halfway across the courtyard. Holding up a sheaf of papers, he calls out, "Daddy, look! Some of these are for you."

We've reached him by this point and can now see that the papers are a stack of drawings. He shuffles through them to show us one in particular. Proudly, he points out the details of two characters from his dad's latest book. My husband had shared the illustration for the cover of the book that morning, explaining who the characters were and what they were holding in the image. Our son had not only recreated the characters, but he wanted to share them with his dad.

Whilst our son was accomplishing said feat, his father and I were attending the transitional meeting I wrote of the other day. I had no idea what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised, again, at the options open to us.

We were most intrigued by the idea of full-day kindergarten, only accessible by lottery and a monthly fee in this area. (In other states, full-day kindergarten is the norm.) His current program is full-day and has worked out wonderfully. (As if you haven't heard!) The idea of him going into a half-day (2.5 hour) program wasn't that appealing. He just needs too much structure to his day. Too bad it would be left to a lottery to decide...or would it? Chatting with his teacher after the meeting, we were told that they are working with the district to get the extended-day SE students "grandfathered" into the full-day program! She agreed that it would be silly to put him in a half-day program and said they try hard to avoid that with this particular population. It would be awfully hard for him to get any services in just 2 hours! Hooray for the IEP! Now wouldn't it be terrific if the fee were to be waived because of his special needs too??

* "Oh, Mama!" is a quote from a book my son has been obsessed with lately. That particularly phrase, used in the story as an exclamation, intrigues him to the point that he brings me the book quite frequently, pointing to the phrase, and asking about its usage.

Sending Out Some Love

Congratulations to my two biggest blog fans, Ryan and Amy, on the birth of their little girl last night! Thanks, you two, for all the encouragement and prayers. And welcome to you, Anna Sophia! Praying for God's mercies and blessings for all of you....

Help for the Clueless

Or How I Learned to Quit Complaining and Love the School District

In case you have difficulty reading the text in the photo, it is a notice of an informational meeting designed to help parents with the transition from the wonderful Spec Ed preschool to mainstream kindergarten. I realize its not the most exciting thing in the world to average folk, but to this mommy, it is quite literally a God-send.

Gluttons for Punishment

That's what my mom calls us. And its probably true....

Meet Rose, the newest member of our family. That's our cat, Daisy stalking up behind her. Rose is 7 weeks old, part border collie and part mutt. What can I say?

And Now the Good News

Nearly every mother I have encountered with a child who has autism struggles with one thing most of all: does my child even care about me?? You see, even as first time mothers when we know no different, our heart breaks when our child refuses to make eye contact, when they show no concern whether we leave or return, when they don't try to bring us into their world. Over five years have passed and my son has yet to respond with delight upon my return. He has never once said he loved me. Yet, thanks be to God, I am now seeing glimmers of hope.

As we put the boys to bed on Valentine's Day, I was busy tucking in his brother when my husband whispered in my ear, "Tell him 'Happy Valentine's Day'." Curious, I climbed the ladder to his upper bunk and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, buddy." I nearly fell down the ladder when he replied, "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too." Dazed, I wandered to my bedroom, sank down on my bed, and cried.

Sure, to some it would seem a highly mechanical response, one that requires little to no emotional concern. But what "normal" people might take for granted is for him a huge step. Most children with autism won't even reciprocate a greeting of "hello." My son has only recently started to occasionally respond with an awkward wave.

Fast forward to the following week and here is what happens:

My son said to me, "I'm going to paint a picture of you."

Busy cooking dinner, I replied, "Oh, really?"

Wandering over to his side, my jaw drops at what I see. I expected perhaps a brown squiggle or a mish-mash of colorful splats of paint. Instead, I behold:

From left to right, that's Daddy, myself, and my son. Holding hands. Daddy and I have hats. I don't know why. The brown mish-mash at the bottom? That's his little brother, he tells me with a devilish smile. Wouldn't the psychologist have a field day with that one?!