Autism Story: One for the history books

Nolan likes swimming.  Like many others living with autism, he is drawn to the water.  So, it’s fortunate for him that his school provides pool therapy once per week.  It’s fortunate for me that the therapies are performed at the Mitchell Therapy Pool, which just happens to be located on the Vermont Achievement Center campus where I work.  Nearly every Tuesday I try to sneak down to the pool on the other side of the building to see Nolan, if even for just five minutes.

A couple weeks ago I missed visiting with him, which in itself doesn't man much; I've missed a Tuesday here or there before.  However, I found out later that I would have seen a rather amazing thing, had I visited this one particular swim session.

Ann, our very hard working pool director, is in love with each of the kids in all of our programs.  She has also become attached to the visitors to our pool, including those from outside organizations.  She makes it a point to learn about each one, including their names and a little about them.  Nolan is no exception.

One day when my own student was visiting the pool, Ann shared with me what I missed the previous Tuesday.

As I've found him in the past, Ann told me Nolan was sitting alone at the end of one of the picnic tables enjoying his snack after a usually rigorous swim session.  At the other end sat an anatomical rescue dummy, seated in an upright position, just as a kid enjoying a snack would be after a usually rigorous swim session.  As Ann thumbed through a catalog, she watched Nolan watching the mannequin; his eyes would return to his snack, then back to the dummy, and back again.

Slowly, Nolan inched closer to the mannequin, obviously curious and interested about the new addition to the table.  Ann set the magazine down on the table as she walked away to answer the phone a few feet from the picnic table.  When her attention turned back to my son, she couldn't believe what she saw.

Nolan had slid himself all the way over, and he had placed Ann’s catalog in front of the dummy; his hand was patting the back of the doll and he was turning the magazine’s pages as he repeatedly asked the inanimate object, “Are you okay, baby?”  He thought the adult-sized puppet was a baby!

She was floored by the adorable scene, and I was amazed.  When I told Lori about it later, we were both delighted that this kid, who three years ago couldn't so much as say his name, had now engaged in spontaneous play with a full-sized doll and had acknowledged its presence --- and had read it a book!

Sniffle.

~Jon

Ten Things You Would Overhear Every Day in Our House

Anyone reading this post has stories to tell about the goings on in their unique household.  I’m sure you have even said things that, to a neighbor listening in, would sound as though you were drained of all coherent thought.  In this post, I want to share with you a list of ten things we say in our own home that, while not all necessarily quirky, we should at some time record for easier playback.

Though I agree that there are likely a households out there that repeat one or two of these phrases daily, in our House of Chaos, there isn't a saying below that doesn't go unsaid every day.  Ten of the most popular are, in no particular order..

1)  “NO PASSWORD”:  Each and every mother loving day, Nolan insists on connecting with one manner or other of electronic device.  We try not to connect him with anything that can display a movie, mostly because of numbers 2 and 3 (and in part #4) below.  Because we lock the devices, part of that objection requires us to repeatedly utter “No Password,” to which we are met with screams, repeated volleys requesting the secret code, crying, high decibel whines and whatever ruckus he thinks will annoy us into giving in.  If we do, we are guaranteed to holler…

2)  “NO PAUSE/PLAY”:  This should actually read “No Pause, Play, Stop, Fast forward, Rewind, Eject, Reinsert, Freeze frame, Zoom”, but I wouldn't have time to type all that (especially since we only say this statement every day).  Like I said in #1, we try to keep the remotes, Wii controllers, computer and iPad passwords, smart phones and other DVD/Netflix access points away from Nolan.  If we slack (daily) and he gets a hold (daily) of one of the aforementioned forbidden items, he will resort to pressing any combination of the electronic commands listed above. To do so is to feed caffeinated cane sugar directly into the vessels of his sensory diet.  That leads to us yelling…

3)  “STOP BOUNCING”:  As do many kids with autism, Nolan stims.  Repetitive movie quotes, humming in a way that mimics the Tasmanian Devil, and the “typical” hand flapping are all daily self-stimulation activities we have come to know and love.  But, every time we cue the intro to Spongebob Squarepants or Yo, Gabba Gabba (or any other sherbet-colored children’s television show), our +100lb. boy starts rocking the joint --- and I don’t mean by being musically inclined.  When he starts bouncing, the living room sways, the TV that (if I do say so myself) is securely mounted to the wall begins to jiggle, and you can ride the surf of the hardwood floor boards the length of the house.  Then, it isn't long before we yell…

4)  “TURN IT DOWN”: This may be the least fair of all the items on this list, because --- let’s be honest --- what parent doesn't at one time or another crave peace and quiet?  In this case, though, we’re talking about both Madison and Nolan, and redundancy.  It’s every day, several times a day, that we utter this statement.  Whether it’s the iPad, Netflix or that robot we bought for Christmas, the device unfailingly manages to reach a decibel level somewhere between “chainsaw” and “fighter jet squadron”.  Ask the user to “turn it down”, and they will --- but only until they think we can no longer hear it.  Then, the child will kindly return the volume to its previous ear-bursting level, most likely so we don’t miss out on all the fun ourselves.  Of course, while this is going on with one child, to the other, one of will have to say…

5) “STOP WHISTLING”:  Guess what Madison has learned how to do.  All the time.  Ask her to stop whistling, however, and she will reach an indignant posture that is reserved for the most arrogant diva.  We may have asked her to stop whistling because its suppertime, Mom is sleeping or she has been at it for eleven hours.  Regardless, all she heard was that she would never again be allowed to whistle for the rest of her life.  She sulks, we get upset, she has to go to bed, then we have to say...

6)  “STOP KISSING THE MIRROR”:  There’s a nice, full-length mirror hanging on the hallway side of our bathroom door.  Though she’s no sort of “clean freak”, Lori is wiping that thing daily.  It would appear that neither Nolan nor Madison is intimidated by nor suffers from heightened hypersensitivity caused by this shiny, reflective decoration.  On the contrary; each one --- eight and nine respectively, mind you --- cannot resist placing a full-on lip smack every time they head through the bathroom door.  Not long after this, we will have to tell Nolan…

7)  “YOUR UNDERWEAR IS ON BACKWARDS”: One might think that this phrase is reserved for me.  Rest assured, I usually get this one right the first time without too much instructional assistance.  Poor Nolan does this so often, though, that (well, first off, it made this list; and second) I’m beginning to wonder if at this point in time he thinks that’s just how they go on.  No matter; it isn't long before we have to beg…

8) “NO MOMMY’S BED”: This one has only been nightly for about three months.  A year before that, it lasted a little over a year and a half.  I mentioned previously how Nolan demands nightly and repeatedly that he wants to sleep in our Lori’s bed.  It isn't a quiet request and it won’t arbitrarily happen.  Oh no.  Even on the off chance he falls asleep in his own bed, by between 12:30 and 3:30 in the morning, Nolan will end up in our bed.  We no longer try to fight him on it, either.  Not if we want the rest of the house to get any kind of sleep.  And, at that time in the morning, I just want to get to my sofa.  Then, in the morning, there is no doubt Lori will have to say…

9)  “WAIT FOR IT”:  We really should put that Angel Guard seat belt latch cover back on the buckle.  This nifty device keeps Nolan (any child, for that matter) from unbuckling the belt.  Otherwise, every day as soon as the van slows to Docking Speed, we hear the dreadful ‘click’, and he is standing up.  Lori started saying “wait for it” as she would travel the loop in front of Nolan’s school on the way to dropping him off.  If she drawls out a slow “waaaaaait for it,” the boy will at least stay buckled in --- even though he may think she’s playing a game.  It works in parking lots, driveways and fast food drive-thrus…go ahead, try it at home.  While you are doing so, I’ll explain that we constantly have to tell Nolan…

10)  “GET YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR PANTS”:  Again, this one amazingly is rarely directed toward me.  And, once again, Nolan and his underclothes made the list.  This one happens so frequently that he can recite it back to us on command.  One afternoon I had to stay after work for a meeting; Nolan was allowed to hang out.  Lori left him with his iPad, and I had him situated in our meeting room on a beanbag.  I turned around to check on him and, there he was, in this room full of female teachers, digging in The Valley.  All I was able to say was, “Nolan...”  As if we had rehearsed it (and I guess in a way we had), Nolan replied, “Get your hand out of you pants.”  Oh, how they laughed...

Way to stay classy, son.

~~Jon

Unprompted and Unexpected

As I mentioned on my blog Celebrate the Autism Spectrum (click here), I get excited when any child in the World of Autism does anything beyond expectation.  It may be a one-time thing, or it could be the sign of something big on the horizon.  Doesn't matter.  To those of us who know and understand, even the littlest leaps are amazing.

Friday Nolan made one of those unexpected leaps.  His paraprofessional told my wife today that, while working with Nolan, she somehow caused her finger to bleed.  Well, Nolan noticed, and at first reacted as we figure he would.

“Are you OK, Ms. Lafayette?” he mumbled as though his mouth was full of marbles, trying so hard to speak as fast as we do.

She showed him her finger; it was bleeding a little, but she assured him she would be fine.  Undeterred, he told her, “Be right back.”

“It’s OK, Nolan.  I’m fine,” she tried to convince him again.  Opening the classroom door, however, he told her over his shoulder, “Stay here.”

Ms. Lafayette was curious at this point where the journey would take him, so she ducked into the hallway a short distance behind him.  She wanted to give him his space, while still intrigued by what he intended.

“Stay ‘dere’,” he commanded again when he saw her tailing him, and he turned the corner toward the school’s front door.  Ms. Lafayette was not worried, though she ducked through a shortcut to arrive first near where she was sure would be his destination. 

Opening the office door, Nolan struggled at first to get the school nurse to understand his desire.  “Bandage,” he stumbled.  She was confused, so he repeated, “I want bandage, 'puhweeze'.”

Upon seeing Nolan’s aide, the nurse understood.  She handed him the supplies he needed, and he headed back out the door.  Ms. Lafayette scooted back down the side hallway, hoping to meet Nolan at the other end.  As soon as they found one another, Nolan tried to open the package and put the bandage on Ms. Lafayette’s finger.

He did all of this unprompted.  All by himself.

Sniffle.

He also likes electronics.  A lot.  When it isn't time for him to use the iPad or computer or watch movies, Nolan will scour the countryside (that is, every room in the house) looking for a stray, unguarded cell phone.  Lori, Kaleigh and I recently acquired smart phones, and they are as functional as any computer.  Leave one without a lookout, and he is on Netflix or YouTube, playing, pausing and rewinding the same two or three seconds of any interesting video he can find.

Friday night I was the negligent adult, and he wore my phone out until the battery died.  I tried to get my phone from him as quickly as I could, without any luck.  By the time anyone had gotten to him, Nolan had pulled a switcheroo; somewhere in the fuss, he had unplugged his mother’s charging phone and replaced it with mine.

Clever.

~Jon