Seizing Opportunities

This year, the bimonthly Charlotte Mason Blog Carnival is spending an entire month on one suggested theme from Mason's third volume: School Education. January's topic is physical training, and, as a graduate of the United States Naval Academy, I have had my fair share of that! Since this blog focuses on autism, homeschooling, and now private schooling, I'll turn to one aspect of physical training that is vital for all of us, but especially people in the autism spectrum.

Mason believed that an alert child will have more opportunities to see. Opportunities to do what? To serve others, to gain knowledge, to do something. Imagine for a moment what a daunting thing that can be to teach a child in the autism spectrum. First, let's read what my favorite educator wrote,

Alertness.––Many a good man and woman thinks regretfully of the opportunities in life they have let slip through a certain physical inertness. They missed the chance of doing some little service, or some piece of courtesy, because they did not see in time. It is well to bring up children to think it is rather a sad failure if they miss a chance of going a message, opening a door, carrying a parcel, any small act of service that presents itself. They should be taught to be equally alert to seize opportunities of getting knowledge; it is the nature of children to regard each grown-up person they meet as a fount of knowledge on some particular subject; let their training keep up the habit of eager inquiry. Success in life depends largely upon the cultivation of alertness to seize opportunities, and this is largely a physical habit. We all know how opportunity is imaged––a figure flying past so rapidly that there is no means of catching him but, in advance, by the forelock which overhangs his brow (Page 109).

I believe the number one thing parents and teachers do to discourage autism spectrum children from thinking is to issue commands. I know we're often in a hurry. Our kids process more slowly. But, if we consistently give them directives, they only have to be alert to us. They don't have to pay attention to their environment, much less persons in their environment.

One child with autism rarely looked at anyone at the beginning of the school year. I suspect that a steady diet of "look at me" prompts was the issue. He didn't realize the benefits of looking at people because others were looking for him. The adults at our school use a different style of communication as described in my friend Di's poster. While we may help students observe, we encourage them to think for themselves.



Slowly, over time, things began to change for him. Because he wasn't paying attention to his classmates, he appeared to cut in line. For a couple of weeks, in our half hour of individualized work, we played follow the leader. The leader took all sorts of unexpected and circuitous routes. He had to be alert to changes in direction even though he knew the expedient way to put lunch bags in the refrigerator. After that, he had no problems in line.

Because we rely more on facial expressions and gestures and not on commands, he has learned to be alert to what we say with our bodies as well as with our words. He has learned to look in the direction of the speaker during group time as well as share joint attention when it's just two people. He is even trying to play with his friends at recess. He is growing in awareness of how his actions affect his friends.

Pamela has come a long way in cultivating the habit of alertness. She enjoys doing little things for me like retrieve the mail every day, bring groceries in the house, and carry our lunch bags into the school. She shops for things and helps us remember all sorts of details. Occasionally, I've completely forgotten about meals on wheels until she reminded me! She still has some lessons to learn. She doesn't always remember to hold the door when I'm behind her.

And, what do I do? Do I prompt her to hold the door? No!

Sometimes, I wait until she realizes she has left me behind.

Sometimes, I cry out, "Hey! What about me?"

Sometimes, I catch her before the door slams and say, "My hands are full."

Sometimes, I knock on the door.

By avoiding the direct command, "Hold the door," I'm requiring her to be alert to my needs and to think for herself what opportunity she can seize. Mason knew that direct commands lessens the ability of a child to remember. In training Johnny to shut the door, she didn't give him a direct command when he forgot. She calls his name pleasantly. She makes a declarative comment, "I said I should try to remind you." The mother of the girl lacing her boots uses eye contact and facial expression to remind her to work more quickly.

Finally, alertness is a two-way street. For us to cultivate alertness in our children, we must cultivate it in ourselves. Once we settle on a new habit to form, we must be watchful of those situations in which the habit can be trained naturally. We must be alert and spring into action with wide and varied responses of indirectly reminding our children of what is not to be forgotten. We are wise if we mind Mason's words about our own habits: "Tact, watchfulness, and persistence are the qualities she must cultivate in herself; and, with these, she will be astonished at the readiness with which the child picks up the new habit" (Page 122).

Momheimers

Momheimers is an advanced condition of motherhood caused by the gray matter seeping out of the brain and altering the color of the hair. I must be in the early stages of Momheimers between having enough gray hairs to leave a bald spot if yanked and doing a couple of doofy things this past week!

It all started a week ago Sunday. Steve and I recently became members of the church to which we switched in February 2009. The pastor planned to welcome us at the service. Before I left for choir practice, David and Pamela were ready and Steve was in the shower--all systems were go for an on-time church arrival.

The choir sits in the front of the sanctuary, so, when we take our seats, I usually look for my family. To my great shock, they were not in the usual spot. I craned my neck and strained my eyes but still could not see them! I could not imagine why they were so late on such an important day.

The pastor launched into the announcements and got around to recognizing the new members. He did not see my family, and, since Steve travels often, he asked me if Steve would be attending church. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "He's supposed to!" which drew a titter from the congregation. I racked my brains trying to figure out why he was uncharacteristically late. I figured that one of his bosses from earthquake-stricken Chile had him on the phone, so I stopped worrying.

After the choir left the sanctuary to sit in the pews, I grabbed my purse and suddenly realized, I HAD TAKEN BOTH SETS OF KEYS! After I finished laughing at my own expense, I showed everyone the keys to exonerate poor Steve. I was so thankful I had assumed he had a legitimate reason for not showing up and did not fume my way through the service.

I knew the lost keys probably upset Pamela, so I brought home the children's bulletin which she enjoys filling out. She read the title, "Jesus Is Sad about Jerusalem," and said, "Just like Pamela and the lost keys." What a clever segue into expressing her feelings!

Our faulty intersubjectivity (shared perspective on the situation) could have caused me to blow up at Steve for blowing off church. Missing important information leads to judgmental attitudes like the people in these funny commercials about a man in the hospital and a man cooking dinner. A few days later, I hurt Pamela's feelings for this reason!

Steve saw the outer wrapper of a package of bacon in the trash. Pamela sometimes microwaves herself a couple of pieces of bacon for breakfast. He grew alarmed because we bought the bacon the night before. For some strange reason, he assumed she had eaten an entire package of bacon for breakfast. He asked me to have a talk with her.

I should have investigated this more carefully, but I was multi-tasking with some hard deadlines. I should have reflected that Pamela leaves half of her French fries when full. She gives me the rest of her Skittles when she's had enough. I should have realized the sudden change in behavior made no sense and asked her what she ate for breakfast. I should have checked the trash can myself.

But, I did not.

I said, "Pamela, you ate too much bacon for breakfast. Eating too much bacon will make you fat."

Pamela completely understood what I meant and started crying, "Fat like Homer Simpson. No more bacon!"

I had not expected such a strong reaction! I consoled her, "You can have two pieces of bacon. Two pieces are fine."

She stopped crying and said, "Two, not three."

Suddenly, I realized I was operating under a faulty premise. I headed to the kitchen and saw the outer layer of the packaging in the trash. Where was the inner wrapper? In the refrigerator, of course! Pamela had eaten only three pieces of bacon for breakfast and put the rest back in the refrigerator.

Boy, did I feel like a chump!

There was a silver lining in this breakdown of intersubjectivity. Pamela expressed herself well enough to revise my understanding. Three years ago, she could not have done that!

People Watching at the Post Office

Ever since I became a student of intersubjectivity, people who annoy me no longer hack me off . . . as much.

Inter-what, you ask? "Inter" as in "happening between people" and "subjectivity" as in "a person's unique thoughts, perceptions, feelings and memories."

Intersubjectivity is a shared thought-life and consensus which shape our ideas and relationships with other people. It goes on all the time, almost unseen until we observe and reflect about our social lives. My friend Kathy shared how a breakdown in intersubjectivity with an in-law helped her see how precious her children are to her, especially the two with autism. Another friend Nifferco pointed out how it helped prevent a meltdown with her daughter after dance class. Penny compared it to children's modes of thinking about numbers. Queen Mum describes how it helps her son better monitor his behavior whether they are out in the snow or at ChuckECheese's.

Today, I needed to mail some books for Paper Back Swap. I walked into the lobby of the Post Office about five minutes before they opened up for business. Two elderly men were waiting and chatting as I boldly strolled up to open the doors. I pulled hard and nothing happened! Then I realized that last November they changed the hours on me! (Where have I been?) We all laughed at my expense, and I joined in their conversation. Another woman showed up, surprised that it was closed. She entered the lively discussion, too.

The fifth person arrived. This elderly woman gave us hardly a glance and marched right up to the locked door and waited. Her body language stated clearly that SHE was FIRST in line. The rest of us exchanged knowing looks about her obvious violation of the unwritten rules of who goes first. Nobody said a word, and yet, we all knew what the others were thinking about the new arrival. I was not upset because I have seen Pamela unknowingly break this assumed code due to her delays in intersubjectivity.

Finally, a sixth man who seemed a bit clueless arrived right before the mail clerk unlocked the doors.

I hesitated partly out of curiosity to see how the jockeying for position would turn out. Clearly, the two men who arrived first ought to go before me. One scooted ahead, but the other was a retiree with plenty of time on his hands. He graciously let all five of us get in line first.

The line-cutter headed straight to the window, completely bypassing the official line, before you could say, "Next please." The gentleman who had every right to go first was second. He had the class to go through the motions of walking through the official line.

Third in line was the clueless man, who was so close on the heels of the gentleman that he missed the sign showing the beginning of the waiting line. The clerk waved him off and pointed to the sign. The man stood there even after the clerk told him where to stand. Then, I realized he could not understand English. He turned in my direction and could only see the blank side of a sign that he couldn't read anyway. I smiled, motioned to him where to stand, and said, "Here." (I probably should have said, "Aquí.") After than, proper line etiquette was restored.

These two rule breakers failed to peeve me because they were great examples of intersubjectivity in action in the real world. Instead of feeling my blood pressure rise, I thought, "What a great way to start off a blog post!"

Yesterday, two sweet moments happened as a result of Pamela's greater understanding of intersubjectivity.

The printer ran out of ink. I really did not intend to show Pamela how to change a cartridge. I just wanted to present an opportunity for sharing an experience, which is how we build intersubjectivity. I slowed down each step of changing the cartridge and looked at Pamela. She sat on the couch and watched my every movement. Suddenly, she began to narrate my actions while she supplemented her words with nice facial expressions. "Uh-oh . . . change it . . . put it in the trash . . . rip . . . all done."

We were waiting in the car for David's band practice to end--he just joined the drum line this week! Pamela rifled through my purse and found my cell phone. She opened it up and pretended to talk to someone, "Tammy's not here right now!" When she finished, I took the phone, "I'm sorry David's at band practice." I handed it back to her and she said, "Steve's not coming home today." He was, and she was only pretending. Then she talked a little more. She handed it to me and I said, "No thanks. We're not interested." She cracked up because she did not expect me to be talking to a telemarketer on a cell phone!

In both scenarios, the highlight was how beautifully she shared joint attention. She paid attention to my every move and added her own ideas to the interaction.

Pamela's Brain Waking Up OR Terrible Twos? Part I

Pamela has been doing some amazing things lately. Last Saturday, she did not really feel like watching birds with me, requiring me to be extra patient and encouraging in guiding her. Since all our men were out of town on a ski trip for Valentine's Day (which I never celebrate anyway because it reeks of commercialism), a friend, Pamela, and I attended The Whole Megillah. This Purim ballet set in Ancient Persia tells story of Esther through brilliant costumes with a contemporary dance twist. We bought wooden graggers for only three dollars for the dramatic climax at end of the program. Unfortunately, Pamela lasted through intermission after an hour of dance supported by minimal dialog and narration. Talk about broadband communication overload!


We are so glad to see Pamela becoming more assertive and interested in experience sharing. Sunday morning, she infused her gragger with new purpose: she wanted to sit where the gluten-free, casein-free dog was sitting. She whirled the noisemaker and said to Loa, "Wake up!" Then, Pamela grabbed her by the collar and hauled her off the chair. I have even seen Pamela try to carry the dog of Flubber in her arms like a baby. She has even mustered the courage to grab the leash of the brat dog (the Arwenator) and bring her to me for safe-keeping.

Canine aside, there are other neat developments. The other day Pamela asked me, "What is half past seven?" After I explained it meant 7:30, she quickly caught on as we verbally explored other half-pasts. When I use the N-word (no), she asks, "Why?" or "How come?"--which I have been waiting sixteen years to hear her say (as annoying as it is). She not only loves her babies, she now brakes for real babies in restaurants and at David's co-op class. Pamela tells me when she feels proud of herself, "I did it," and tells me exactly what she did. When I smother her with scaffolding, she announces "I'll do it myself!" like any huffy toddler. When the electric toothbrush ran out of power, Pamela squealed and I told her that all it needed was a good recharge. She danced and said, "Just like the computer!"

Last Sunday, she and I dined at the Chinese restaurant. Picking out food from the buffet gave her more practice with guiding me verbally and physically--this girl LOVES sushi! While we were seated, the waitress asked Pamela if she wanted more Coke. Pamela looked at her and said "No!" Later, the waitress came back again and asked the same thing. This time Pamela handed her the glass and said, "Get rid of it." The waitress put it on the table and tried to pour more. So, Pamela then said, "Get rid of it," and carefully used her palm to push it back to the waitress and shook her head. The waitress, who like Pamela seems to be learning English, finally realized what Pamela wanted and whisked away the glass. When the waitress came back to retrieve Pamela's plate, my reflexes were not fast enough to stop Pamela from licking it first . . . sigh.

What we are seeing is more evidence of intersubjectivity, or "the developmental process of linking mental states between people." Through RDI, Pamela moved past primary intersubjectivity, "the way that infants, in their first year of life relate directly to others through emotion sharing and coordinated movement" and into secondary intersubjectivity as described in My Baby Can Dance:

Secondary intersubjectivity, which begins to be observed towards the close of the first year, involves a "triangulating" relationship between two persons and an external stimulus. The experience of triangulation opens the door to understanding other's minds, relative thinking, and the development of a conscious self, as the young child experiences the distinction between their unique perceptual stance towards a stimulus and that of their partner.

She is becoming almost too intersubjective. I am sitting at the desk while I type this blog with my back to Pamela (on my left) and the television (on my right). I turn my head to see what Pamela is watching and she chides, "Stop looking!" I reply neutrally, "I'm just peeking!" After a minute, I repeat the head-turning and she responds more mildly. I will blog more about the consequences of greater intersubjectivity in my next post!