A couple of friends and I have been gathering every other week to read through The RDI Book. To spotlight the affect that emotions have on our episodic memory, I shared a true story about two of my ninth-grade teachers: one tried to teach me to do art and the other taught me to enjoy art and live a full life.
The first was THE art teacher whose name I have forgotten. All I remember was her scowling at those evil clods who did not get art. Since her art did not pay, she made sure we all paid for it every bloody moment of her class. The few gifted enough to earn her smiles never understood why the kids who drew stick figures despised her. I will leave it to you to discern into which category I fell. The lasting impression I carry around in my mind of her is a dried-up grump with a scrunchy, Mr. MaGoo face and a black beret cocked to the side. Whether or not it is accurate, that picture is the caricature she became in my mind.
Then, there was Mr. P, our English teacher who also taught humanities on the side. Our school, a K-12 school on a small American Navy base in Newfoundland, Canada, had only twenty-eight students in the 7th through 12th grades. He could tell that the other new student and I seemed nervous on our first day of high school in an unfamiliar place. He welcomed us and called us to the front desk. He said he could tell from our records that we were pretty girls and, winking at two other girls in the class, added, "Not like those dingbats over there."
We relaxed right away, and then he told us about the chair. It was an ugly, old, Navy-issue, sage-green upholstery chair. He pointed to it and said students could take turns reading in it. He gave us pens and explained that any time we wanted we could doodle, draw, or write on it. That chair was so special nobody ever dreamed of leaving profanity. People sat there during class and even during lunch.
Mr. P loved people. Whenever elementary school kids walked by on the way to the library, he would herd us into the hall and we would wave at and greet all the little kids. Every child in our school knew Mr. P and he knew everyone of them by name. He gave many of them affectionate nicknames like "The Terror of Ten Hundred". He coached the basketball team and chaperoned many of the activities: the fishing derby, camping trips, dances, etc.
The first book he assigned was The Hobbit. That year, I fell in love with fantasy and have gone on to read The Lord of the Rings, C. S. Lewis, George MacDonald, and others in that genre. Mr. P had an ulterior motive for it. As you can imagine, the weather in Newfoundland was dreary as dreary could be. Fog. Wind. Fog. Rain. Fog. Mist. Fog. Snow. Fog. Sleet. Fog. Slush. Oh, yeah, and fog. Mr. P had lived there long enough to know that before the end of the school year would come a glorious day, full of sunshine, in which even he could do nothing to snag our attention. On that day, he told us to put away the books because we were all going out hobbit-hunting. We happily strolled out to the docks, where no hobbit in his right mind would be.
He also taught us humanities. He spent part of the class flipping through a slide show of artwork. He paused on a picture and we talked about everything from the details we noticed to the connections we made and the feelings we felt. The warm memories of those slide shows got us through studying for the written tests. We learned from him what the professional art teacher never managed to convey: an appreciation for the beauty and originality and preciousness of art.
Before we graduated, Mr. P taught us his last lesson. For many of us, it was the first lesson of its kind. After school, he often went running with some guys. On the Thursday before Spring Break, he ran as usual, felt a little faint, and sat in the chair. His heart, which had an undetected murmur, gave out and he died. While the shock of losing him so suddenly hit us all in the gut, we slowly began to realize we were all with him when he died. Every student who had sat in that chair and made their mark on the upholstery waved goodbye to him as he headed off to the happy, hobbit-hunting grounds.
Mr. P taught us many things that cannot be measured in this No Child Left Untested world. He taught us how to learn, how to live, and how to die. He understood the power of relationships. His warmth, encouragement, and exuberance was the emotional glue that gave us lasting memories of the books we shared and the art we enjoyed.
I always tear up when I share this story with people, which even made it to an anthology ("Goodbye, Mr. P"). One of the parents in our little group reflected on the results of prompting and correcting a child with autism all of the time. You end up angry and tired. Is that really what you want them to code into their memories of their relationship with you?
"What is a parent to do?" you ask.
I suggest you do Nothing, a corollary to Charlotte Mason's mantra ("Whereby teachers shall teach less and scholars shall learn more"). If you have no idea of the power of Nothing, click here. This little gem is worthy of your refrigerator and bathroom mirror.
AUT-2B-HOME IN CAROLINA ~ Teaching our twenty-five-year-old daughter with autism and aphasia, who is still learning about God, the world, and its people with a little help from Charlotte Mason
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Comfort of Cattails
Pamela is clearly more receptive to people in her watercolor class. She is looking forward to sharing cake and ice cream to celebrate her 21st birthday next Tuesday. She even sang a little snippet of the Beatles' "Today Is Your Birthday" song.
The class did two things: finished the spring landscape from two weeks ago and started a Barbados beach landscape. After a slow start in mixing colors, Pamela managed to keep up and even stay ahead of her teacher because she wanted to get to the fun part: painting! She breezed her way through drawing the beach scene after having had years of practices imitating Steve Burns drawing in his handy-dandy notebook.
The biggest trend I saw was how well she regulated her emotions. Steve called unexpectedly (I never get cell phone calls), and Pamela asked where he was. Several tubes of paint had crusted-on caps, so she asked for help. The spray bottle, which had a mind of its own, spewed its cap into the paint, and she took it well. I sprayed water on the table, and Pamela grabbed a paper towel and cleaned it up. Instead of painting the second picture with the paper set to "landscape" her teacher had them position their paper to "portrait" and Pamela didn't even blink.
The first video shows Pamela finishing her spring landscape, which turned out gorgeous. The highlight for me was how well Pamela regulated herself during an unexpected change of mind by her teacher. Carrie knows how to scaffold the students and models her thought processes beautifully. She was going to shift to painting red flowers and had already gotten them started on mixing the paints. She revised her strategy and guided the class back to green leaves. Suddenly, she realized that Pamela was autistic (it is easy to forget because Pamela is doing so well). Carrie looked at me half-apologetically, knowing what unexpected transitions can do since she also parents a child in the spectrum.
Pamela did not catch onto the change right away and happily mixed her red. Once she caught wind of the shift, she mildly fussed. I guided her more directly since a pending meltdown and thinking clearly are mutually exclusive. I told her she could paint the leaves or wait. She felt like arguing and even said, "Argue." Suddenly, she started painting brown blobs that looked like cattails. I wonder if she recalled the cattail study we did last summer and consoled herself by painting them instead!
Pamela's new painting is looking gorgeous too. She loves bold colors which make her pictures pop. My favorite moments of this video was when Pamela wanted to know the island's name (and we plan to look up Barbados in her beloved atlas). I also enjoyed watching Pamela solve a problem. She accidentally colored her white foam the color of sand and then tried blotting it. Since it did not sop up enough water and this was nearing the end of the hour, I quickly collaborated with her and I drew a new line in the sand.
The class did two things: finished the spring landscape from two weeks ago and started a Barbados beach landscape. After a slow start in mixing colors, Pamela managed to keep up and even stay ahead of her teacher because she wanted to get to the fun part: painting! She breezed her way through drawing the beach scene after having had years of practices imitating Steve Burns drawing in his handy-dandy notebook.
The biggest trend I saw was how well she regulated her emotions. Steve called unexpectedly (I never get cell phone calls), and Pamela asked where he was. Several tubes of paint had crusted-on caps, so she asked for help. The spray bottle, which had a mind of its own, spewed its cap into the paint, and she took it well. I sprayed water on the table, and Pamela grabbed a paper towel and cleaned it up. Instead of painting the second picture with the paper set to "landscape" her teacher had them position their paper to "portrait" and Pamela didn't even blink.
The first video shows Pamela finishing her spring landscape, which turned out gorgeous. The highlight for me was how well Pamela regulated herself during an unexpected change of mind by her teacher. Carrie knows how to scaffold the students and models her thought processes beautifully. She was going to shift to painting red flowers and had already gotten them started on mixing the paints. She revised her strategy and guided the class back to green leaves. Suddenly, she realized that Pamela was autistic (it is easy to forget because Pamela is doing so well). Carrie looked at me half-apologetically, knowing what unexpected transitions can do since she also parents a child in the spectrum.
Pamela did not catch onto the change right away and happily mixed her red. Once she caught wind of the shift, she mildly fussed. I guided her more directly since a pending meltdown and thinking clearly are mutually exclusive. I told her she could paint the leaves or wait. She felt like arguing and even said, "Argue." Suddenly, she started painting brown blobs that looked like cattails. I wonder if she recalled the cattail study we did last summer and consoled herself by painting them instead!
Pamela's new painting is looking gorgeous too. She loves bold colors which make her pictures pop. My favorite moments of this video was when Pamela wanted to know the island's name (and we plan to look up Barbados in her beloved atlas). I also enjoyed watching Pamela solve a problem. She accidentally colored her white foam the color of sand and then tried blotting it. Since it did not sop up enough water and this was nearing the end of the hour, I quickly collaborated with her and I drew a new line in the sand. Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Dust Bunnies, Faceblindness and Other Stuff
Sow an act, reap a habit; sow a habit, reap a character; a character, reap a destiny. Hat tip: Charlotte MasonMy ears perked up at Bible study today when Jennifer Rothschild shared these words, often quoted by Charlotte Mason. Charlotte Mason backed up a step on this popular quote in her day. "'Sow an act,' we are told, 'reap a habit.' 'Sow a habit, reap a character.' But we must go a step further back, we must sow the idea or notion which makes the act worth while." The role of parents--and all good teachers--is to sow ideas.
Last week, our seventeen-year-old son David gave me a great example. We left him home alone during our cruise. He wasn't truly alone for he had two dogs, a parakeet, and three fish to keep him company. When he wasn't caring for the menagerie, he was either attending school or checking in with my folks who live across the street. We left him with very few instructions: we asked him to take care of the pets and check in with his grandparents once a day. We gave him no curfew. We made no rules about illicit parties. Since he has never given us a reason to doubt his judgment, we thought it unnecessary.
He surprised us when we came home.
It took me about a day to figure out what he had been up to. We got home Tuesday night, and I spent Wednesday catching up and doing laundry. On Thursday, I cleaned the house to prepare for a visit from friends the next day. As I dusted, I noticed something very strange. THERE WAS NO DUST! None in the dining room, living room, or office. The downstairs bathroom looked suspiciously clean. I couldn't find any dust bunnies sleeping in the corners either.
Then, I realized what David had been doing when he wasn't getting screen time, studying, banging on the drums, or playing his guitar! We never told him to clean. We never offered to pay him. When he came home from school, I asked him why. He told me that he always sees me cleaning before Dad returns from a business trip. He knows it makes his dad feel comfortable . . .
Through RDI, we are doing the same thing with Pamela: sowing ideas, hoping some will take root, and waiting to see what sprouts. Today, I reaped a bumper crop of fruit.
Many people with autism struggle with face blindness. While she has no problem recognizing people she knows well, she struggles when she sees a familiar face in the wrong place. If she does not recognize someone right away, I usually let her know where we normally see the individual. Today, at watercolor class, the mother of the homeschooler gave me hope that Pamela is making progress on this front.
I usually sit up front with the choir during the first half of our church service. Last Sunday, my friend and her family sat in the same pew as my crew. Pamela slid into the pew next to her classmate, followed by David and Steve. She glanced over and the wheels began to turn. My friend, who understood that one of our goals is to let Pamela think for herself, waved and said, "Hi! Pamela!" She gave her absolutely no clue about where they usually see each other. Her daughter waved and greeted Pamela too.
Then, Pamela did the most amazing thing for someone who struggles with faceblindness. She waved back and said, "Hi, Abbie!" SHE REMEMBERED! I was almost in tears as my friend was relating this story to me.
Now, if that wasn't enough to fill my heart with treasure, five minutes later, Pamela wowed me again.
Her teacher introduced the new student in the class. She waved to us and said, "I'm Susan from G_____ville!" I could tell Pamela hadn't caught that. Knowing of her interest in towns that end in ville, I pointed to Susan and said, "This is Susan. She is from G_____ville." Again, the wheels began turning in Pamela's head. She suddenly realized she had no idea where anybody in the class lived. She pointed to Lisa very clearly and decisively and said, "Where do you live?" Lisa smiled and answered, "S_____ton." She pointed to Abbie, asked the same question, and got the same answer. Pamela turned to her teacher and repeated her query. Carrie said, "I live in S_____ton too. Where do you live?" Pamela told her.
What strikes me the most about both of these situations is Pamela's inner motivation. Often the emphasis in the autism world is to prompt ASD children into learning the social graces before people are on their radar screen. That seems backward to me. A child who is interested in people will need much less direct teaching and prompting because "the idea or notion which makes the act worth while" has already sprouted. In Pamela's case, she first became interested in paying attention to us with the help of RDI. As she began to understand us better, she became interested in paying attention to other people. As she begins to understand people better, she has the inner motivation to interact with others, ask meaningful questions, and have short conversations without being prodded.
One good Bible study leads to another. So, I will close with a quote from The Prodigal God by Tim Keller, a book that has rocked my world. Deepening our understanding, not rules, is what relationships are all about!
What makes you faithful or generous is not just a redoubled effort to follow moral rules. Rather, all change comes from deepening your understanding of the salvation of Christ and living out of the changes that understanding creates in your heart. Faith in the gospel restructures our motivations, our self-understanding, our identity, and our view of the world. Behavioral compliance to rules without heart-change will be superficial and fleeting.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Don't Talk about that Future!
Pamela does not like when we talk about the future, especially the time when David goes to college. She thinks of herself as a big girl (which is quite accurate) and asks me if she can still play with her babies when she is 21 (next week, as a matter of fact). She corrects me when I order four adult tickets for the family at the movies.
We consider Pamela a very late bloomer. We have guardianship and, at present, Steve's insurance covers her medical needs (which are few since she is healthy and not taking any medications). Because she is still making progress in many areas of her development, we are not guiding her to transition into the work world because she is not ready.
Employment is a huge issue for even the most high-functioning people in the autism spectrum. "Only 15 per cent of autistic individuals in full-time employment" in the U.K. (hat tip: Kathy Darrow). An acquaintance of mine bought a farm recently and hired a young man in the spectrum, who has a master's degree in his field, but has gotten fired from one job after another. Often, the issue is not knowledge, ability, or I.Q. but dynamic thinking and the ability to work with people. While folks in the computer industry and arts tolerate the quirks of autism, the rest of the world is not so forgiving.
I applaud families like the Nunns who have encouraged their autistic son Dustin to follow his dream to publish his own cartoon book. They helped him build a website featuring his finished product and put up homemade commercials on You-Tube (Hat Tip: Bonnie). Their creativity and determination inspire me!
I worry a lot less about these statistics than I used to because we are finally seeing Pamela think more flexibly. For years, she wrote lists of movies, categorized by dates, leaving a paper trail a mile thick. The other day I found the most delightful thing. Pamela wrote her first list of movies BY THEME!
Peeps! This is big!!!!! But, that's not all. Today, we were rating our favorite composers in Spanish.
Me: "Mozart es numero uno."
Pamela: "Mozart es numero dos."
Me: "Es Tchaikovsky numero uno?"
Pamela: "Si."
Me: "What's Bach?"
Pamela: "Numero dos."
Me: "You mean, Bach and Mozart are both numero dos?"
Pamela: "Yes."
I was so excited to know that Pamela was flexible enough to consider a tie!
Two years ago, Pamela attended Winter Jam, the place least likely to attract a person in the autism spectrum: a very loud, contemporary Christian rock concert. She skipped last year but asked to go again this year. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending upon one's perspective), our youth group sent an advance scout party to score good seats for us. I swear my ears rang for a week afterwards! The volume did not deter Pamela: when her fingers grew tired, she tried out ear plugs: for the first time EVER!
A couple of times, I worried about Pamela melting down. We were hungry, so I went to get a burger (bunless for her) and fries. She stayed with the youth group, while I got the food. After she finished her food and drank about half of her soda, I accidentally knocked it over. To my shock (and delight), she took it in stride and did not even fuss. Years ago, this would have meant a meltdown or a trip to the concession stand to prevent one. Then, intermission took way too long and Pamela was ready to head home. Since we depended upon the youth group for transportation, we could not leave. I gave her the option to walk outside and wait until the concert was over. Pamela quietly fussed her way through her decision-making. Trust me, I would have happily headed out for the music was loud, but she chose to stay for the whole thing.
Recently, I came across this blog post that listed the big three skills that individuals with autism should master. It ought to be renamed three STATIC skills. What about the big three dynamic skills that would give the most bang for their buck in the work world? Good enough thinking, multi-channel communication and emotional regulation? Fuzzy logic, collaborating, and resilience? Hmmm . . . thinking back to Pamela's weekend with her Oma and Opa, I would say that alternative thinking, perspective taking, and emotional regulation greased the skids for my parents.
We consider Pamela a very late bloomer. We have guardianship and, at present, Steve's insurance covers her medical needs (which are few since she is healthy and not taking any medications). Because she is still making progress in many areas of her development, we are not guiding her to transition into the work world because she is not ready.
Employment is a huge issue for even the most high-functioning people in the autism spectrum. "Only 15 per cent of autistic individuals in full-time employment" in the U.K. (hat tip: Kathy Darrow). An acquaintance of mine bought a farm recently and hired a young man in the spectrum, who has a master's degree in his field, but has gotten fired from one job after another. Often, the issue is not knowledge, ability, or I.Q. but dynamic thinking and the ability to work with people. While folks in the computer industry and arts tolerate the quirks of autism, the rest of the world is not so forgiving.
I applaud families like the Nunns who have encouraged their autistic son Dustin to follow his dream to publish his own cartoon book. They helped him build a website featuring his finished product and put up homemade commercials on You-Tube (Hat Tip: Bonnie). Their creativity and determination inspire me!
I worry a lot less about these statistics than I used to because we are finally seeing Pamela think more flexibly. For years, she wrote lists of movies, categorized by dates, leaving a paper trail a mile thick. The other day I found the most delightful thing. Pamela wrote her first list of movies BY THEME!
Peeps! This is big!!!!! But, that's not all. Today, we were rating our favorite composers in Spanish.
Me: "Mozart es numero uno."
Pamela: "Mozart es numero dos."
Me: "Es Tchaikovsky numero uno?"
Pamela: "Si."
Me: "What's Bach?"
Pamela: "Numero dos."
Me: "You mean, Bach and Mozart are both numero dos?"
Pamela: "Yes."
I was so excited to know that Pamela was flexible enough to consider a tie!
Two years ago, Pamela attended Winter Jam, the place least likely to attract a person in the autism spectrum: a very loud, contemporary Christian rock concert. She skipped last year but asked to go again this year. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending upon one's perspective), our youth group sent an advance scout party to score good seats for us. I swear my ears rang for a week afterwards! The volume did not deter Pamela: when her fingers grew tired, she tried out ear plugs: for the first time EVER!
A couple of times, I worried about Pamela melting down. We were hungry, so I went to get a burger (bunless for her) and fries. She stayed with the youth group, while I got the food. After she finished her food and drank about half of her soda, I accidentally knocked it over. To my shock (and delight), she took it in stride and did not even fuss. Years ago, this would have meant a meltdown or a trip to the concession stand to prevent one. Then, intermission took way too long and Pamela was ready to head home. Since we depended upon the youth group for transportation, we could not leave. I gave her the option to walk outside and wait until the concert was over. Pamela quietly fussed her way through her decision-making. Trust me, I would have happily headed out for the music was loud, but she chose to stay for the whole thing.Recently, I came across this blog post that listed the big three skills that individuals with autism should master. It ought to be renamed three STATIC skills. What about the big three dynamic skills that would give the most bang for their buck in the work world? Good enough thinking, multi-channel communication and emotional regulation? Fuzzy logic, collaborating, and resilience? Hmmm . . . thinking back to Pamela's weekend with her Oma and Opa, I would say that alternative thinking, perspective taking, and emotional regulation greased the skids for my parents.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Anchors Aweigh!
"Raising a child with ASD is like being a blind captain of a sailing ship with a deaf crew." Dr. Steve Gutstein
Steve and I recently did something we have not done since 1994: vacationed without the children! In fact, the 1994 trip to Las Vegas does not really count because we were attending an autism convention and chose to sit at evening talks instead of slot machines. So, the last time we went somewhere together overnight without kids was when we were, well, without kids! Pathetic, huh? Stories like that are quite common in the autism world because it really is hard to find the right people to understand and take care of our kids. It is no wonder the divorce rate is so high.
Since we moved across the street from my parents, they have spent enough time with Pamela for her to be comfortable with them and vice versa. Over the years, my mother, a fabulous cook, has learned the intricacies of Pamela's diet. She has observed how I help Pamela stay calm and regulated and how I guide Pamela's thinking by applying the principles of RDI. Pamela has become better able to express herself and converse with others. I have taken trips to North Carolina and Minnesota while Pamela stayed at my parents' house. With Steve at work, Mom could always reach him if Pamela threw her a curveball.
Last Friday, we woke up in the wee hours of the morning and drove to Miami to board Majesty of the Seas for our first cruise on a white ship (as former naval officers, we have done plenty of time haze grey and underway).
Pamela stayed with my parents, and she accompanied them on a trip to Charleston with Mom's quilting group. My dad drove the bus. While he parked, Pamela and Mom's friends walked into the auditorium. She took one look at the dazzling array of quilts and little old ladies and was ready to head back home. Dad cannot stand more than five minutes either, so Pamela, Dad, and Elvira (their white standard poodle) cruised the cobblestone streets of Charleston. She chatted with my dad a little to learn the schedule and patiently waited until two o'clock before they finally ate. When she grew tired of walking, they went back to the bus and sat for awhile.
After lunch, the ladies went shopping and Pamela protested, "I want to go home!" She had had enough! My mother quietly explained to her that the ladies never go to Charleston because it is too far away. She promised them a shopping trip, and the ladies would feel so sad if they canceled it. Pamela listened carefully and said, "Okay!"
Pamela referenced my mother for emotional regulation again when their church youth programs coordinator picked up a television donated by my parents. She saw some strange woman hauling off the TV and protested, "No! No! No! That's not yours! It belongs upstairs!" Then, Mom explained, "Pamela, we have too many televisions: the kitchen, parlor, quilt room, television room, and the RV. We don't need it anymore!" Pamela calmed down and said, "Okay!"
Mom noticed Pamela was spending an inordinate amount of time watching programmed television. Indulging in her favorite shows is understandable since we pulled the plugged on cable last May. Mom told her she was watching too much television and needed to get outside for awhile. Pamela protested, of course, but, after the show ended, she put on her shoes and headed outdoors. Then, Mom gave her a tour of their new RV. Pamela loved it so much that she spent part of her day sitting in the back room of the RV for a change of pace.
Pamela's morning routine at my parents' house included taking a bath. Because the tub is upstairs, my mother works up there to make sure nothing floods. Pamela has never had a problem, but Mom didn't want to risk it. Mom had to run errands Monday morning, so she told Pamela she could not bathe until after lunch. Pamela understood and happily adjusted to the new schedule. As soon as they finished lunch, Pamela said, "I want to take a bath!"
Overall, Mom and Dad thoroughly enjoyed having Pamela stay with them and found her to be no trouble at all. While Pamela enjoyed knowing the schedule of the day, she stayed flexible, too. They noticed she had far fewer anxieties and stay much more regulated than in previous stays with them. When she started to get riled up, Mom kept her calm by giving her more information. Even better, Mom was amazed at Pamela's improved ability to have give and take conversations about a wide variety of topics.
What We Did on the Cruise
Steve and I recently did something we have not done since 1994: vacationed without the children! In fact, the 1994 trip to Las Vegas does not really count because we were attending an autism convention and chose to sit at evening talks instead of slot machines. So, the last time we went somewhere together overnight without kids was when we were, well, without kids! Pathetic, huh? Stories like that are quite common in the autism world because it really is hard to find the right people to understand and take care of our kids. It is no wonder the divorce rate is so high.
Since we moved across the street from my parents, they have spent enough time with Pamela for her to be comfortable with them and vice versa. Over the years, my mother, a fabulous cook, has learned the intricacies of Pamela's diet. She has observed how I help Pamela stay calm and regulated and how I guide Pamela's thinking by applying the principles of RDI. Pamela has become better able to express herself and converse with others. I have taken trips to North Carolina and Minnesota while Pamela stayed at my parents' house. With Steve at work, Mom could always reach him if Pamela threw her a curveball.
Last Friday, we woke up in the wee hours of the morning and drove to Miami to board Majesty of the Seas for our first cruise on a white ship (as former naval officers, we have done plenty of time haze grey and underway).Pamela stayed with my parents, and she accompanied them on a trip to Charleston with Mom's quilting group. My dad drove the bus. While he parked, Pamela and Mom's friends walked into the auditorium. She took one look at the dazzling array of quilts and little old ladies and was ready to head back home. Dad cannot stand more than five minutes either, so Pamela, Dad, and Elvira (their white standard poodle) cruised the cobblestone streets of Charleston. She chatted with my dad a little to learn the schedule and patiently waited until two o'clock before they finally ate. When she grew tired of walking, they went back to the bus and sat for awhile.
After lunch, the ladies went shopping and Pamela protested, "I want to go home!" She had had enough! My mother quietly explained to her that the ladies never go to Charleston because it is too far away. She promised them a shopping trip, and the ladies would feel so sad if they canceled it. Pamela listened carefully and said, "Okay!"
Pamela referenced my mother for emotional regulation again when their church youth programs coordinator picked up a television donated by my parents. She saw some strange woman hauling off the TV and protested, "No! No! No! That's not yours! It belongs upstairs!" Then, Mom explained, "Pamela, we have too many televisions: the kitchen, parlor, quilt room, television room, and the RV. We don't need it anymore!" Pamela calmed down and said, "Okay!"
Mom noticed Pamela was spending an inordinate amount of time watching programmed television. Indulging in her favorite shows is understandable since we pulled the plugged on cable last May. Mom told her she was watching too much television and needed to get outside for awhile. Pamela protested, of course, but, after the show ended, she put on her shoes and headed outdoors. Then, Mom gave her a tour of their new RV. Pamela loved it so much that she spent part of her day sitting in the back room of the RV for a change of pace.
Pamela's morning routine at my parents' house included taking a bath. Because the tub is upstairs, my mother works up there to make sure nothing floods. Pamela has never had a problem, but Mom didn't want to risk it. Mom had to run errands Monday morning, so she told Pamela she could not bathe until after lunch. Pamela understood and happily adjusted to the new schedule. As soon as they finished lunch, Pamela said, "I want to take a bath!"
Overall, Mom and Dad thoroughly enjoyed having Pamela stay with them and found her to be no trouble at all. While Pamela enjoyed knowing the schedule of the day, she stayed flexible, too. They noticed she had far fewer anxieties and stay much more regulated than in previous stays with them. When she started to get riled up, Mom kept her calm by giving her more information. Even better, Mom was amazed at Pamela's improved ability to have give and take conversations about a wide variety of topics.
What We Did on the Cruise
Thursday, March 11, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Springing for Spring
Two Hot Watercolor Tips
Before delving into last week's lesson, I'd like to share some hot tips. Pamela struggled with preparing her paints because (1) she lost paint by leaving blobs of it on her paintbrush when dipping it into the clean water and (2) it took her forever to mix paints. Her teacher suggested we bring in a spray bottle full of clean water to make the mixing go faster. Pamela caught on right away and prefers spraying to dribbling. WARNING: be careful of your aim and distance for you might splash paint onto your paper.
Another neat trick is to tape the paper to a board (we're are using a cutting board). The masking tape keeps your paper secure, which is very helpful when you are in a hurry drying it with a hair dryer. Once you carefully remove the tape (to avoid ripping the paper), you leave behind a pretty white border.
For homework, Pamela finished her barn and painted a Baltimore oriole. I hoped to lengthen her stamina with two long projects. As I suspected, she wanted to quit after finishing the barn. With a dash of warm encouragement, Pamela painted the bird, which looks fluffy because of her heavy hand with water.
Spotlighting Dynamic Thinking
When we arrived at the art gallery, I grew concerned about two issues. Two women were working in the shop, taking down paintings, and speaking very loudly. Pamela managed beautifully and her brain functioned well enough to filter out unexpected distrations. Pamela was not in the mood to paint and told me she was going to do zero projects. Since her protest was mildly half-hearted, I got everything set up while she relaxed on the couch. With a little bit of gentle coaxing, Pamela joined the class at the tables.
Pamela is better at keeping up with the class in mixing paints, and you can see how much she loves that spray bottle in the videos below. She had several nice moments with her teacher, who is awesome at nonverbal communication, thinking of concrete ways to describe something, and gives Pamela time to shift attention and process what she is saying.
Awhile back, a reader commented that Pamela is merely doing mimicry. Our focus is not mindless copying. We place great value in her ability to watch, think, and do. Here are some examples of her dynamic thinking in action:
Highlight of the Day
Pamela covered the left-side of her paper with yellow, all the way to the bottom of the page. I made a couple of comments and realized she had her own agenda. The mark of a good guide is picking the right battles. I felt validated when Pamela painted a lighter shade of yellow on the right side. She painted all the way to the bottom of the page again, but, this time, I remained silent. Suddenly, and on her own, she noticed that her teacher had white space on that part of the painting. Pamela grabbed a paper towel and sucked up most of the paint!
Mindless mimicry or thoughtful apprenticeship, what say you?
Before delving into last week's lesson, I'd like to share some hot tips. Pamela struggled with preparing her paints because (1) she lost paint by leaving blobs of it on her paintbrush when dipping it into the clean water and (2) it took her forever to mix paints. Her teacher suggested we bring in a spray bottle full of clean water to make the mixing go faster. Pamela caught on right away and prefers spraying to dribbling. WARNING: be careful of your aim and distance for you might splash paint onto your paper.Another neat trick is to tape the paper to a board (we're are using a cutting board). The masking tape keeps your paper secure, which is very helpful when you are in a hurry drying it with a hair dryer. Once you carefully remove the tape (to avoid ripping the paper), you leave behind a pretty white border.
For homework, Pamela finished her barn and painted a Baltimore oriole. I hoped to lengthen her stamina with two long projects. As I suspected, she wanted to quit after finishing the barn. With a dash of warm encouragement, Pamela painted the bird, which looks fluffy because of her heavy hand with water.
Spotlighting Dynamic Thinking
When we arrived at the art gallery, I grew concerned about two issues. Two women were working in the shop, taking down paintings, and speaking very loudly. Pamela managed beautifully and her brain functioned well enough to filter out unexpected distrations. Pamela was not in the mood to paint and told me she was going to do zero projects. Since her protest was mildly half-hearted, I got everything set up while she relaxed on the couch. With a little bit of gentle coaxing, Pamela joined the class at the tables.
Pamela is better at keeping up with the class in mixing paints, and you can see how much she loves that spray bottle in the videos below. She had several nice moments with her teacher, who is awesome at nonverbal communication, thinking of concrete ways to describe something, and gives Pamela time to shift attention and process what she is saying.
Awhile back, a reader commented that Pamela is merely doing mimicry. Our focus is not mindless copying. We place great value in her ability to watch, think, and do. Here are some examples of her dynamic thinking in action:
- After she drew her hills, she erased them because she tends to make dark lines. At home, we erase our lines. Ironically, her teacher watched Pamela erase and she too decided to erase them! The teacher references the student--how fun is that?
- The teacher has been guiding the class in creating white space (in the unfinished spring landscape pictured above: the band of trees between the sky and ground, the bands at the bottom of the page, and the band between the two hills). The space prevents two colors from blurring together and leaves room for another element. Pamela usually follows along, but, for some reason, she was determined to color the band all the way to the bottom. I backed off because she emphatically put her foot down!
- Her teacher introduced a new idea: to give the grass some "blonde highlights" with the already-laid yellow, she suggested making marks with a white crayon to resist the green. Pamela could not understand why that insane teacher was insisting on having them made white grass. Clearly, this moment was a breakdown in theory of mind! Again, I backed down, knowing that she did not see her teacher's point.
- Pamela added a river, which her teacher did not have. Carrie made the white space so that the two colors would not bleed. Pamela was adamant about turning that into a river. It is her creativity and work after all!
- Several times Pamela asked questions or asked for him (some not on the clips): confirm the wet wash for the sky, open the spray bottle, confirm what I meant about hanging up her picture, open a new tube of color, etc.
Highlight of the Day
Pamela covered the left-side of her paper with yellow, all the way to the bottom of the page. I made a couple of comments and realized she had her own agenda. The mark of a good guide is picking the right battles. I felt validated when Pamela painted a lighter shade of yellow on the right side. She painted all the way to the bottom of the page again, but, this time, I remained silent. Suddenly, and on her own, she noticed that her teacher had white space on that part of the painting. Pamela grabbed a paper towel and sucked up most of the paint!
Mindless mimicry or thoughtful apprenticeship, what say you?
Monday, March 01, 2010
Howard Be Thy Name
In the past few years, Pamela has slowly started to understand a variety of styles of humor. Today's example is the verbal pun. Pamela has been stimming on the Lord's Prayer and the Doxology lately. Now, don't get me wrong. I'd much rather her stim on something innocuous instead of George Carlin's "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television."
To avoid making Pamela feel incompetent, we seek playfully ways to turn it into a conversation. This morning, Steve struck gold!
Pamela: [For the fifth time.] "Our Father, who art in Heaven . . ." [Waiting for one of us to recite the script]
Steve: "Howard be Thy name."
Pamela: [Loud giggle.]
Steve: "Our Father, who art in Heaven, Howard by Thy name."
Pamela: [Another loud giggle.]
Steve: "What? Howard be Thy name."
Tammy: "Nooooo! Howard be Opa's name."
Pamela: [Piercing shriek followed by a giggle.]
Tammy: "Is God's name Howard?"
Pamela: "No! It's Hallowed."
Tammy: "Do you know what hallowed means?"
Pamela: "Means? Means?" [She is asking me to tell her.]
Tammy: "Hallowed means holy. We love God's name because He is God."
Getting puns spotlights Pamela's level of auditory processing because ears are the source of the humor. Puns depend upon either homophones or words that sound nearly the same (hallowed sounding a lot like Howard). The humor involves changing a word in a sentence for another one that sounds the same but means something different. "Why was ten scared? Because seven ate nine." Puns also depend upon context. Steve could have used either Harold or Howard. He chose the latter because Pamela had the context that Howard is a name (her grandfather) and she doesn't know anyone named Harold.
People either love or hate puns, or paronomasia. William Shakespeare laced his plays with thousands of them. Mercutio, knowing was he was about to die in Romeo and Juliet, said, "If you look for me tomorrow you will find I am a grave man." Over a century later, Samuel Johnson, author of the dictionary, defined puns as "the lowest form of humor." Judging by the expression on his face in this painting by Joshua Reynolds, I question whether or not he actually had a sense of humor! Some scientists are doing some fascinating research into this love-hate relationship with puns.
Puns often confuse children in the autism spectrum and many "how-to" guides on autism caution you to explain puns or avoid them. Some even suggest teaching our children to laugh at puns or make them up to improve their social skills. If you have to teach a person to laugh at puns, then they are not really funny!
What did we do to teach Pamela to get puns? Nothing directly!
When we started RDI three years ago, we worked on the idea of variation. We played a game in which we tossed a ball (David, Pamela and I). The first step was getting a pattern going. Once Pamela got the pattern, we introduced a tiny variation: using a different ball, poorly aiming the ball, etc. We often laughed, and Pamela began to see that variation can be funny. She began to laugh at the unexpected! In time, she cracked up when someone got bonked on the head or the balls came flying fast and furious or David threw a grape instead.
We added variation into all aspects of our life: if something we were doing had a pattern, then it was ripe for variation: laundry, cooking, shopping, reciting poems, reading a book, etc. Then, we threw in some anticipation to ratchet up the excitement. Going back to the ball example, David faked two or three throws while making his facial expressions bigger and bigger before completing the toss. I might look at Pamela to throw, fake it once or twice, and then slow enough for her to process my trick, switch my aim to David. In time, we could play that trick on Pamela because she understood the humor.
One of the biggest problems our kids have in real life is unexpected change. Helping them to anticipate and sometimes enjoy variation can avoid meltdowns. When I dropped her soda at a concert the other day, Pamela did not get a bit upset because she had drank enough to satisfy her. When the waitress at the Mexican restaurant told her they only had honey mustard, not yellow mustard, she took it in stride. While our work on variation has not completely inoculated her from meltdowns, she has come a long way.
What does variation in activities have to do with puns? Pamela clearly translated the idea of variation being funny in the ball tossing games to her scripts. When someone varies the script with a word that is almost the same, she truly finds it funny. We do not have to wink our eye or nudge her. She laughs because she gets the humor.
The same thing applies to nonsense humor like the Scotsman gag in Monty Python. Pamela caught onto the humor of people being zapped by aliens and turned into Scotsmen. Three minutes and thirty seconds into the skit, a bobby stands next to a woman with a baby carriage (or should I say, pram). You expect one of the adults to transform. The anticipation comes out of not knowing which one. The bobby morphs, followed by the woman. What makes that segment especially funny is when a red beard appears on the baby blanket and the carriage rolls off to Scotland with the others.
Humor, like play, ought not to be taught. Why? Redoing gaps in a child's development, starting with infant level milestones, allows play and humor to emerge on their own.
To avoid making Pamela feel incompetent, we seek playfully ways to turn it into a conversation. This morning, Steve struck gold!Pamela: [For the fifth time.] "Our Father, who art in Heaven . . ." [Waiting for one of us to recite the script]
Steve: "Howard be Thy name."
Pamela: [Loud giggle.]
Steve: "Our Father, who art in Heaven, Howard by Thy name."
Pamela: [Another loud giggle.]
Steve: "What? Howard be Thy name."
Tammy: "Nooooo! Howard be Opa's name."
Pamela: [Piercing shriek followed by a giggle.]
Tammy: "Is God's name Howard?"
Pamela: "No! It's Hallowed."
Tammy: "Do you know what hallowed means?"
Pamela: "Means? Means?" [She is asking me to tell her.]
Tammy: "Hallowed means holy. We love God's name because He is God."
Getting puns spotlights Pamela's level of auditory processing because ears are the source of the humor. Puns depend upon either homophones or words that sound nearly the same (hallowed sounding a lot like Howard). The humor involves changing a word in a sentence for another one that sounds the same but means something different. "Why was ten scared? Because seven ate nine." Puns also depend upon context. Steve could have used either Harold or Howard. He chose the latter because Pamela had the context that Howard is a name (her grandfather) and she doesn't know anyone named Harold.
People either love or hate puns, or paronomasia. William Shakespeare laced his plays with thousands of them. Mercutio, knowing was he was about to die in Romeo and Juliet, said, "If you look for me tomorrow you will find I am a grave man." Over a century later, Samuel Johnson, author of the dictionary, defined puns as "the lowest form of humor." Judging by the expression on his face in this painting by Joshua Reynolds, I question whether or not he actually had a sense of humor! Some scientists are doing some fascinating research into this love-hate relationship with puns.Puns often confuse children in the autism spectrum and many "how-to" guides on autism caution you to explain puns or avoid them. Some even suggest teaching our children to laugh at puns or make them up to improve their social skills. If you have to teach a person to laugh at puns, then they are not really funny!
What did we do to teach Pamela to get puns? Nothing directly!
When we started RDI three years ago, we worked on the idea of variation. We played a game in which we tossed a ball (David, Pamela and I). The first step was getting a pattern going. Once Pamela got the pattern, we introduced a tiny variation: using a different ball, poorly aiming the ball, etc. We often laughed, and Pamela began to see that variation can be funny. She began to laugh at the unexpected! In time, she cracked up when someone got bonked on the head or the balls came flying fast and furious or David threw a grape instead.
We added variation into all aspects of our life: if something we were doing had a pattern, then it was ripe for variation: laundry, cooking, shopping, reciting poems, reading a book, etc. Then, we threw in some anticipation to ratchet up the excitement. Going back to the ball example, David faked two or three throws while making his facial expressions bigger and bigger before completing the toss. I might look at Pamela to throw, fake it once or twice, and then slow enough for her to process my trick, switch my aim to David. In time, we could play that trick on Pamela because she understood the humor.
One of the biggest problems our kids have in real life is unexpected change. Helping them to anticipate and sometimes enjoy variation can avoid meltdowns. When I dropped her soda at a concert the other day, Pamela did not get a bit upset because she had drank enough to satisfy her. When the waitress at the Mexican restaurant told her they only had honey mustard, not yellow mustard, she took it in stride. While our work on variation has not completely inoculated her from meltdowns, she has come a long way.
What does variation in activities have to do with puns? Pamela clearly translated the idea of variation being funny in the ball tossing games to her scripts. When someone varies the script with a word that is almost the same, she truly finds it funny. We do not have to wink our eye or nudge her. She laughs because she gets the humor.
The same thing applies to nonsense humor like the Scotsman gag in Monty Python. Pamela caught onto the humor of people being zapped by aliens and turned into Scotsmen. Three minutes and thirty seconds into the skit, a bobby stands next to a woman with a baby carriage (or should I say, pram). You expect one of the adults to transform. The anticipation comes out of not knowing which one. The bobby morphs, followed by the woman. What makes that segment especially funny is when a red beard appears on the baby blanket and the carriage rolls off to Scotland with the others.
Humor, like play, ought not to be taught. Why? Redoing gaps in a child's development, starting with infant level milestones, allows play and humor to emerge on their own.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Holy Helicopters!
People who teach children with autism often get swept up into the mentality of building up discrete skills and executing them with rapid-fire precision. Like all of us, we are more than machines seeking to be more efficient. We crave sharing and understanding. If we are not careful, our day can be come a mindless, robotic performance of what is on our daily to-do list, right down to the RDI objective du jour. Today's delivery of meals of wheels spotlighted for me the joy of seeking meaning and connections.
In November 2008 when we started delivering meals, Pamela's role was to man the ice chest, while David and I married the hot tray with the cold food and carried the meals. When target houses were near each other, David would hit one house while I handled the other. We developed a fast-food system that handed out twenty meals in one hour or less.
When David started school last August, I expanded Pamela's role. After we collected the hot and cold food, she carried it while I scooted ahead to knock, open the screen door, and greet the person in the house. Since Pamela's social skills are more like that of a toddler, we do not split up at adjacent houses, which adds more time. Today, we delivered twenty-eight meals in an hour and twenty minutes. What really matters is that we shared one sweet moment after another that helped me appreciate how far she has come.
After we loaded up the car with ice chests and hot boxes, Pamela tried her verbal stims on me (right now, she talks about history and whether or not Julius Caesar used an oil lamp or a flashlight and works herself up to modern times with who had or did not have the conveniences we know and love). Rather than cold shoulder her desire to talk, I remained warm and responsive by making unexpected comments about what she said rather than playing along with her script. When she said that baby Jesus didn't have a nightlight, I added, "I bet he was a cute baby." She persisted in trying to coax me into her world and I continued to reply in ways that gently disrupted her agenda.
Of all things, a helicopter rescued me from the Pamela Express. We were delivering meals about a block from the hospital. While walking to an apartment, we noticed a blue-and-white, shiny helicopter getting lower and lower. Pamela had never seen one so close to the ground, so her eyes were riveted. I said, "I wonder where the helicopter is going," and she had no idea. After we handed out the five meals for that part of town, I took a one-block detour around the hospital to see where the helicopter had landed.
We saw something completely unexpected! A construction crew had fenced off one of the parking lots and a bulldozer was paving the way for a new foundation. Pamela commented on the mess and I said, "I wonder what they are building." She thought a house until we saw a sign depicted an architect's rendering of an upcoming expansion. Behind the bulldozer, we spotted the helicopter, so I said, "I wonder why it's there." Pamela suggested, "Crashed." I said, "But, the helicopter isn't broken." That triggered a new idea, and she said, "A broken arm." I responded, "You know you're right. Sometimes, helicopters taken injured people to bigger hospitals."
The next three houses went as planned. Then, another opportunity to share joint attention bobbed into view. In the yard next to our delivery, I spotted a dog and a white rooster that was unusually quiet. Rather than prompting Pamela for attention while I held the hot tray, I simply stared at the two animals. I did not say a word. I just stood there, rooted in place. After she grabbed the yogurt and coleslaw, Pamela noticed my rapt attention. She studied the scene to figure out why I was not heading to the house. It required a careful look for some bushes partially blocked our view.
Once she was sharing joint attention, I said something noncommittal like, "Whoa!" Suddenly, Pamela burst out into a giggle and said, "Chasing the rooster. Just like Along Came a Dog," referring to a book about the friendship between a homeless dog and an ostracized little red hen, which we read six years ago! Her connection delighted me for I had not thought about that book in ages.
We delivered three more meals and then hit a snag. The weather was windy, chilly, and, not at all pleasant, even in the sun. We walked up to a house, and I knocked on the door, "Meals on Wheels." Nothing happened. I put my ear to the door and listened for signs of occupation. I did not hear a thing.
Pamela: "I don't hear anything."
Me: "You're right." [Knock, knock, knock.] "MEALS ON WHEELS."
Pamela: "MEALS ON WHEELS . . . It's taking too long."
Me: "It is. I'm waiting a little longer."
Pamela: "It's too cold."
Me: "Brrr . . . it's chilly. Let's go."
That conversation blew me away. First, Pamela initiated each idea, appropriate to the situation. She did not monopolize the conversation, nor did I. Our sentences, all declarative in nature, stayed balanced in length. Pamela connected to her environment and shared what she observed. I just loved how she thoughtfully unfolded her rationale for going back to the warm car. But, that was not the highlight!
We delivered five more meals and made another new discovery. About a year ago, a house near one of our delivery sites burned down. In the months since, we have witnessed the blackened house with the yellow crime scene tape go from abandoned to plowed down and removed to grass slowly creeping over a big, bare spot. Today, we saw construction workers building a brand new house. Both of us gasped and smiled, but did not say a word. Some sweet moments are meant to be felt, not spoken. If you doubt me, try watching this wordless interaction between a toddler and her parents and NOT smile.
Then came the priceless moment I will forever treasure. I knocked on the door, and a chair-bound lady invited us inside. She pointed to the spot where she wanted her meal and, on her lap, was sitting the most marvelous thing in Pamela's mind: a big, old, yellow cassette tape recorder. Of all her electronic devices, Pamela prizes her tape recorder the most. The moment I saw it I knew Pamela would flip. Sure enough, she bolted out of that house to burn off the joy mounting inside her. We call that her victory lap.
When we got into the car, I tried to engage her in conversation because I knew how excited she was. I made a couple of noncommittal comments, but she was too full of rapture to speak! I waited and waited, but she said nothing. I was so glad I had stayed sensitive to the extreme emotion flooding her body and avoided bullying her into talking. Unexpectedly and on her timetable, Pamela blurted out her thoughts.
Pamela: "Did you see that?"
Me: "We saw great things."
Pamela: "Swell."
Me: "The rooster was swell, too."
Pamela: "A tape recorder!"
Me: "And we saw a helicopter."
Pamela: "New house."
In that short conversation, we reviewed the discoveries made in what could have been a routine delivery.
If this post sounds like fluff and cotton candy to you, read on. A new study by the University of Miami shows that some parenting styles foster the development of language in autistic children. Researchers found a connection between "sensitive parenting" in eighteen-month-old children at risk of developing autism and greater expressive language growth by age two to three years. They defined "sensitive" as the following:
In November 2008 when we started delivering meals, Pamela's role was to man the ice chest, while David and I married the hot tray with the cold food and carried the meals. When target houses were near each other, David would hit one house while I handled the other. We developed a fast-food system that handed out twenty meals in one hour or less.When David started school last August, I expanded Pamela's role. After we collected the hot and cold food, she carried it while I scooted ahead to knock, open the screen door, and greet the person in the house. Since Pamela's social skills are more like that of a toddler, we do not split up at adjacent houses, which adds more time. Today, we delivered twenty-eight meals in an hour and twenty minutes. What really matters is that we shared one sweet moment after another that helped me appreciate how far she has come.
After we loaded up the car with ice chests and hot boxes, Pamela tried her verbal stims on me (right now, she talks about history and whether or not Julius Caesar used an oil lamp or a flashlight and works herself up to modern times with who had or did not have the conveniences we know and love). Rather than cold shoulder her desire to talk, I remained warm and responsive by making unexpected comments about what she said rather than playing along with her script. When she said that baby Jesus didn't have a nightlight, I added, "I bet he was a cute baby." She persisted in trying to coax me into her world and I continued to reply in ways that gently disrupted her agenda.Of all things, a helicopter rescued me from the Pamela Express. We were delivering meals about a block from the hospital. While walking to an apartment, we noticed a blue-and-white, shiny helicopter getting lower and lower. Pamela had never seen one so close to the ground, so her eyes were riveted. I said, "I wonder where the helicopter is going," and she had no idea. After we handed out the five meals for that part of town, I took a one-block detour around the hospital to see where the helicopter had landed.
We saw something completely unexpected! A construction crew had fenced off one of the parking lots and a bulldozer was paving the way for a new foundation. Pamela commented on the mess and I said, "I wonder what they are building." She thought a house until we saw a sign depicted an architect's rendering of an upcoming expansion. Behind the bulldozer, we spotted the helicopter, so I said, "I wonder why it's there." Pamela suggested, "Crashed." I said, "But, the helicopter isn't broken." That triggered a new idea, and she said, "A broken arm." I responded, "You know you're right. Sometimes, helicopters taken injured people to bigger hospitals."
The next three houses went as planned. Then, another opportunity to share joint attention bobbed into view. In the yard next to our delivery, I spotted a dog and a white rooster that was unusually quiet. Rather than prompting Pamela for attention while I held the hot tray, I simply stared at the two animals. I did not say a word. I just stood there, rooted in place. After she grabbed the yogurt and coleslaw, Pamela noticed my rapt attention. She studied the scene to figure out why I was not heading to the house. It required a careful look for some bushes partially blocked our view.Once she was sharing joint attention, I said something noncommittal like, "Whoa!" Suddenly, Pamela burst out into a giggle and said, "Chasing the rooster. Just like Along Came a Dog," referring to a book about the friendship between a homeless dog and an ostracized little red hen, which we read six years ago! Her connection delighted me for I had not thought about that book in ages.
We delivered three more meals and then hit a snag. The weather was windy, chilly, and, not at all pleasant, even in the sun. We walked up to a house, and I knocked on the door, "Meals on Wheels." Nothing happened. I put my ear to the door and listened for signs of occupation. I did not hear a thing.Pamela: "I don't hear anything."
Me: "You're right." [Knock, knock, knock.] "MEALS ON WHEELS."
Pamela: "MEALS ON WHEELS . . . It's taking too long."
Me: "It is. I'm waiting a little longer."
Pamela: "It's too cold."
Me: "Brrr . . . it's chilly. Let's go."
That conversation blew me away. First, Pamela initiated each idea, appropriate to the situation. She did not monopolize the conversation, nor did I. Our sentences, all declarative in nature, stayed balanced in length. Pamela connected to her environment and shared what she observed. I just loved how she thoughtfully unfolded her rationale for going back to the warm car. But, that was not the highlight!
We delivered five more meals and made another new discovery. About a year ago, a house near one of our delivery sites burned down. In the months since, we have witnessed the blackened house with the yellow crime scene tape go from abandoned to plowed down and removed to grass slowly creeping over a big, bare spot. Today, we saw construction workers building a brand new house. Both of us gasped and smiled, but did not say a word. Some sweet moments are meant to be felt, not spoken. If you doubt me, try watching this wordless interaction between a toddler and her parents and NOT smile.
Then came the priceless moment I will forever treasure. I knocked on the door, and a chair-bound lady invited us inside. She pointed to the spot where she wanted her meal and, on her lap, was sitting the most marvelous thing in Pamela's mind: a big, old, yellow cassette tape recorder. Of all her electronic devices, Pamela prizes her tape recorder the most. The moment I saw it I knew Pamela would flip. Sure enough, she bolted out of that house to burn off the joy mounting inside her. We call that her victory lap.When we got into the car, I tried to engage her in conversation because I knew how excited she was. I made a couple of noncommittal comments, but she was too full of rapture to speak! I waited and waited, but she said nothing. I was so glad I had stayed sensitive to the extreme emotion flooding her body and avoided bullying her into talking. Unexpectedly and on her timetable, Pamela blurted out her thoughts.
Pamela: "Did you see that?"
Me: "We saw great things."
Pamela: "Swell."
Me: "The rooster was swell, too."
Pamela: "A tape recorder!"
Me: "And we saw a helicopter."
Pamela: "New house."
In that short conversation, we reviewed the discoveries made in what could have been a routine delivery.
If this post sounds like fluff and cotton candy to you, read on. A new study by the University of Miami shows that some parenting styles foster the development of language in autistic children. Researchers found a connection between "sensitive parenting" in eighteen-month-old children at risk of developing autism and greater expressive language growth by age two to three years. They defined "sensitive" as the following:
- Warm communication
- Responsiveness to the child’s needs
- Respect for his or her emerging independence
- Positive regard for the child
- Maternal structuring (the way in which a mother engages and teaches her child about the environment through declarative language)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
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, "AquÃ.") 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.
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, "AquÃ.") 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.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Another Amazing Day in Watercolor Class
Because of her autism and aphasia, Pamela has always struggled in community settings. When she was little, everything overwhelmed her: fluorescent lights, air conditioners, change, transitions, etc. On field trips, I vigilantly kept my eyes peeled for anything that might set her off: escalators, elevators, loud machines, etc. Through diet and sensory integration techniques, she learned to stay regulated when we were out and about.
Pamela still struggled with groups. In co-ops, YMCA classes, library activities, nature center activities, etc., I concentrated on what the teacher did and then I showed her what to do. She had so little awareness of other people that she had no idea of whom she should pay attention to, when should she take an action, when should she do what others did, when should she do her own thing, etc.
We took a break for three-years to work on social milestones of infancy and toddler years through RDI and our fantastic consultant and now we are finally seeing a pay-off, bordering on miracle. Keep in mind when you watch the videos of Pamela's fourth class that, when she was little, she tantrummed, threw herself on the floor, cried, let out piercing screams, kicked her feet, etc. because group settings overwhelmed her.
Steve came to watch the artist at work, and he was VERY impressed. His presence did not throw off Pamela at all because he sat on the couch behind us. Working with David Monday made a tremendous difference (he deserves a sibling of the year award for his patience). I made sure Pamela was sitting next to the fifth grader because Pamela seems to reference her well.
The teacher demonstrated frisket first and practiced drawing shapes before starting the barn. Classes last only an hour now, but, by the time the class was ready for the barn, Pamela was tired. We will start the barn for homework, and the class will finish it next Tuesday.
During the class, Pamela was very calm, comfortable, confident, carefully processing and thinking about what she was doing. She did SO WELL that I can imagine myself, sitting on a cozy chair with a large hot mocha, reading a book while they work. I don't know when that will happen, but I see it as a possibility.
Here are the highlights:
My favorite moment was when they were drawing blocks. Pamela selected a cylinder and rectangular solid. Her fellow homeschooler chose a cube and rectangular solid. The teacher demonstrated how to draw a cube, and the fifth-grader copied her. Pamela did not draw a cube. She waited patiently for the teacher to draw a cylinder. Then, Pamela carefully drew her cylinder, peeked at the girl's drawing of a rectangular solid, and then copied that.
Stop and think how much dynamic thinking it took to do what Pamela did without any hints from me!
Pamela's thinking grew more scattered as she tired. She started getting behind in the color value study (which I plan to review during the week). She grabbed yellow and blue paint like her neighbor, not the color of her blocks. She took more time to think and react. When she asked to take a break, I consented. She had worked hard to process during the first two projects. She had earned her respite!
Pamela still struggled with groups. In co-ops, YMCA classes, library activities, nature center activities, etc., I concentrated on what the teacher did and then I showed her what to do. She had so little awareness of other people that she had no idea of whom she should pay attention to, when should she take an action, when should she do what others did, when should she do her own thing, etc.
We took a break for three-years to work on social milestones of infancy and toddler years through RDI and our fantastic consultant and now we are finally seeing a pay-off, bordering on miracle. Keep in mind when you watch the videos of Pamela's fourth class that, when she was little, she tantrummed, threw herself on the floor, cried, let out piercing screams, kicked her feet, etc. because group settings overwhelmed her.
Steve came to watch the artist at work, and he was VERY impressed. His presence did not throw off Pamela at all because he sat on the couch behind us. Working with David Monday made a tremendous difference (he deserves a sibling of the year award for his patience). I made sure Pamela was sitting next to the fifth grader because Pamela seems to reference her well.
The teacher demonstrated frisket first and practiced drawing shapes before starting the barn. Classes last only an hour now, but, by the time the class was ready for the barn, Pamela was tired. We will start the barn for homework, and the class will finish it next Tuesday.During the class, Pamela was very calm, comfortable, confident, carefully processing and thinking about what she was doing. She did SO WELL that I can imagine myself, sitting on a cozy chair with a large hot mocha, reading a book while they work. I don't know when that will happen, but I see it as a possibility.
Here are the highlights:
- I asked the teacher a question about the brush size, and Pamela listened to the answer and acted on that almost immediately.
- At first, I needed to make declarative statements about what the fifth grader was doing. Once Pamela realized she could reference her while the teacher was busy, everything went smoothly.
- Most of the time, Pamela distinguished when she ought to reference her teacher, reference the other student, or do her own thing.
- Occasionally, Pamela did not respond to my declarative comments, so I tried a nonverbal hint by putting out my hand and waiting for her to give me something.
My favorite moment was when they were drawing blocks. Pamela selected a cylinder and rectangular solid. Her fellow homeschooler chose a cube and rectangular solid. The teacher demonstrated how to draw a cube, and the fifth-grader copied her. Pamela did not draw a cube. She waited patiently for the teacher to draw a cylinder. Then, Pamela carefully drew her cylinder, peeked at the girl's drawing of a rectangular solid, and then copied that.Stop and think how much dynamic thinking it took to do what Pamela did without any hints from me!
Pamela's thinking grew more scattered as she tired. She started getting behind in the color value study (which I plan to review during the week). She grabbed yellow and blue paint like her neighbor, not the color of her blocks. She took more time to think and react. When she asked to take a break, I consented. She had worked hard to process during the first two projects. She had earned her respite!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Tie-Dye Sky
Tomorrow is Pamela's fourth watercolor class. We did more homework this week than we did last week, so I am dedicating a separate post to our homework. Yes, OUR homework. I find room for improvement in every video I watch: ways in which I can be a better guide to Pamela and discoveries she can make as an apprentice. Homework provides a chance to make-up projects Pamela did not do during class, review things we both could be doing better, and preview new ideas to come. Last week, we painted a barn to prepare for a landscape with a barn that her teacher was considering teaching. Since Pamela processes new things more slowly, she will feel more competent tomorrow with one barn already under her belt. 
Painting this apple accomplished several things. Pamela was too tired for a second project last week, so I painted an apple in class and she did hers as homework. I noticed that I had gotten away from making declarative comments and, in my efforts to help Pamela keep pace, was acting like Little Miss Socrates. While Pamela practiced watching for my starts and stops, I cut out the questions and fell back on spotlighting starts and stops through my non-verbal communication.
Today, we previewed a critical idea for Pamela. Last week, Pamela struggled to keep up for a couple of reasons. She watched her teacher very carefully and only started after her teacher did. Sometimes, Carrie would get a supply or assist a student and, if she had only given verbal instructions, Pamela would wait until she saw Carrie take the next step. Since Pamela was not sitting right next to anyone, she had nobody to reference. To rectify the situation and to give Pamela opportunities to practice referencing a classmate, her big brother helped us out. I set up the table very deliberately. I put David between us, so that, when I be-bopped off to do the dishes, David was right next to her. I made sure that they had matching palettes, and that mine was the odd one out. Since Carrie gives new students extra verbal instruction to make up for what they missed, I did the same with David to simulate that scenario.
I timed my actions carefully. At first, I made sure Pamela was in the zone for following my lead. When I saw that she was comfortable with that, I shifted from working simultaneously to me taking an action (dabbing paint on my palette) to David copying me and finally Pamela copying him. Their identical palettes communicated their sameness non-verbally.
Not only did the pictures look great (Pamela's tie-dye look is above; mine is below on the right; David, below, left), but my plan also unfolded beautifully. After Pamela got in her groove, I got them going by getting a band of color started and running off to do the dishes. David handled his role as guide in absentia really well. Then, I gave him verbal instructions and Pamela followed his lead then too. My absolute favorite moment was when I was catching up from one of my stints doing the dishes. I was painting away when David decided to empty out his bowl to get clean water. Pamela watched him head to the sink. She looked at her dirty water and decided to do the same!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Bravo, Mr. Levy!
Jonathan Levy, a specialist who works with children in the autism spectrum, wrote an awesome article called "Sometimes It Doesn't Matter What the Data Says." Now, don't get me wrong! As a statistician, I love data and playing with numbers rocks my world. Seriously.
I agree with Levy in saying that relationships trump data any day:
What do I say to the person who believes that allowing children to avoid eye contact is training them to ignore people like the Special Ed teacher in the article?
If you do something worth paying attention to, even an autistic child will look over in your general direction. If you give them opportunities to learn that looking at another person's face helps you understand how they feel, where they are looking, whether or not they care about what you are saying, then ASD children will want to pay attention, especially if you avoid forcing compliance.
Sometimes, certain people are worth ignoring. When a teacher taught only what was in the book, I spent classtime writing letters or doodling--what old fogies like me did before cell phones were invented. When I took a stochastics class which had no book except for the lesson plans the teacher consulted for writing his notes on the board, I hung on his every word, spoken or written, and kept copious notes. When an opinionated person tells me there is only one way to do something, I bob my head mindlessly like a plastic Chihuahua in the back of the car. When Pamela is on one of her esoteric monologues, I ignore her, too. If we paid attention to everyone trying to get our attention, we'd go stark raving mad.
Aren't we supposed to teach our kids absolute compliance? No! What if a snot-nosed brat tells your daughter to lift her shirt, you want her to think for herself and ignore him. Rigid rules like obeying all people in authority because some people in authority ought not to be trusted. In fact, I think that an aide or teacher that forcibly turns my daughter's head falls into that category.
Yesterday, Pamela wanted brownies, but I had other things to do. So, I stalled and waited to see what she would do. When she noticed I was doing the dishes, she decided to get everything out for me: the mix, bowl, can opener, eggs. I ignored her and started folding clothes. She grabbed the scissors and cut open the bag. Every once in awhile, she glanced at me, so I smiled and encouraged her warmly. Occasionally, she needed a little help and I gave her a boost. She even put the glass pan into the preheated oven!
I did not tell her to bake brownies all by herself; I simply gave her the opportunity to think of it on her own. She could have waited for me, and I probably would have gotten to it a day or two later, giving her more time to think about baking for herself.
You may notice that she did not do the neatest job in pouring the batter into the pan. I try to strike a balance between giving Pamela opportunities and expecting her to do what is really important. The brownies were for us, so presentation was not a big deal. If we were baking it for company, I would have encouraged her to clean the sides of the pan. I decided her discovery that she can bake all by herself was more important than making everything worthy of Martha Stewart.
I found out recently that Pamela loves the children's bulletin at church. Last Sunday, Pamela stayed home from church. I brought home the bulletin and left it on her bed. She did not do a thing with it until Thursday. She filled out the whole thing and only needed help with unscrambling three words (companions, anything, astonished). Every time, she makes a choice about whether or not to do something that is truly optional, Pamela strengthens her sense of self, which, in addition to trust, is another important ingredient for relationships.
It is easy to forget the importance of relationship in focusing on objectives. Yesterday, in anticipation of a rare snowfall Friday night and of painting a landscape with a barn on Tuesday, I found a way to do a double preview: we painted a snow-covered barn based on a picture from Eric Sloane's The Seasons of America Past. We had two sweet moments I captured on film that have nothing to do with my objectives. They may seem like nothing, but anyone who has spent time with an autistic person trapped in monologues on topics that only interest them will appreciate how miraculous moments like this are!
Here are three more examples of Pamela paying attention to me unprompted, without any demands that she interact with me, thanks to the hard work we have been doing in our RDI program:
I agree with Levy in saying that relationships trump data any day:
There is a something that is much greater than getting eye contact/interaction from a child with autism: building a relationship based on trust and predictability. It is from this relationship that eye contact, listening, communication, physical contact all emanate from.
What do I say to the person who believes that allowing children to avoid eye contact is training them to ignore people like the Special Ed teacher in the article?
If you do something worth paying attention to, even an autistic child will look over in your general direction. If you give them opportunities to learn that looking at another person's face helps you understand how they feel, where they are looking, whether or not they care about what you are saying, then ASD children will want to pay attention, especially if you avoid forcing compliance.
Sometimes, certain people are worth ignoring. When a teacher taught only what was in the book, I spent classtime writing letters or doodling--what old fogies like me did before cell phones were invented. When I took a stochastics class which had no book except for the lesson plans the teacher consulted for writing his notes on the board, I hung on his every word, spoken or written, and kept copious notes. When an opinionated person tells me there is only one way to do something, I bob my head mindlessly like a plastic Chihuahua in the back of the car. When Pamela is on one of her esoteric monologues, I ignore her, too. If we paid attention to everyone trying to get our attention, we'd go stark raving mad.
Aren't we supposed to teach our kids absolute compliance? No! What if a snot-nosed brat tells your daughter to lift her shirt, you want her to think for herself and ignore him. Rigid rules like obeying all people in authority because some people in authority ought not to be trusted. In fact, I think that an aide or teacher that forcibly turns my daughter's head falls into that category.
Yesterday, Pamela wanted brownies, but I had other things to do. So, I stalled and waited to see what she would do. When she noticed I was doing the dishes, she decided to get everything out for me: the mix, bowl, can opener, eggs. I ignored her and started folding clothes. She grabbed the scissors and cut open the bag. Every once in awhile, she glanced at me, so I smiled and encouraged her warmly. Occasionally, she needed a little help and I gave her a boost. She even put the glass pan into the preheated oven!
I did not tell her to bake brownies all by herself; I simply gave her the opportunity to think of it on her own. She could have waited for me, and I probably would have gotten to it a day or two later, giving her more time to think about baking for herself.
You may notice that she did not do the neatest job in pouring the batter into the pan. I try to strike a balance between giving Pamela opportunities and expecting her to do what is really important. The brownies were for us, so presentation was not a big deal. If we were baking it for company, I would have encouraged her to clean the sides of the pan. I decided her discovery that she can bake all by herself was more important than making everything worthy of Martha Stewart.
I found out recently that Pamela loves the children's bulletin at church. Last Sunday, Pamela stayed home from church. I brought home the bulletin and left it on her bed. She did not do a thing with it until Thursday. She filled out the whole thing and only needed help with unscrambling three words (companions, anything, astonished). Every time, she makes a choice about whether or not to do something that is truly optional, Pamela strengthens her sense of self, which, in addition to trust, is another important ingredient for relationships.
It is easy to forget the importance of relationship in focusing on objectives. Yesterday, in anticipation of a rare snowfall Friday night and of painting a landscape with a barn on Tuesday, I found a way to do a double preview: we painted a snow-covered barn based on a picture from Eric Sloane's The Seasons of America Past. We had two sweet moments I captured on film that have nothing to do with my objectives. They may seem like nothing, but anyone who has spent time with an autistic person trapped in monologues on topics that only interest them will appreciate how miraculous moments like this are!
Here are three more examples of Pamela paying attention to me unprompted, without any demands that she interact with me, thanks to the hard work we have been doing in our RDI program:
- The other day I was sitting with my laptop in my lap, watching a video of a flying lawnmower. It cracked me up. Pamela was out of visual range of the screen and heard me laughing. She was curious about what was so funny and she said, "What?" I said mysteriously and giggled, "A flying lawnmower!" I did not turn the laptop in her direction to give her the opportunity for her to decide to share joint attention with me. What did she do? Pamela walked over to the couch and watched the video with me.
- My hard drive is overflowing, so today I burned some DVDs and deleted old video files. I rebooted the computer and checked out my free space. I gasped because I had recovered 4 GB of space! Pamela said, "Why are you gasping?" So, I explained to her why I was happy.
- Steve asked me to water the plants earlier in the day. Pamela serenaded me with her favorite Beatles songs (snippets sung a capella) while I sat here blogging my heart out. Just now, I looked at one of the plants and remembered my promise. I said, "I need to water the plants." She stopped singing and asked, "What for?" I told her, "The plants are thirsty."
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Clase número tres
Homework (Monochromatic Landscape)
Pamela had several very lovely moments during her third watercolor class. As always, we did a little bit of homework to review last week (monochromatic landscapes) and preview this week (color landscapes). I downloaded a landscape photograph in color changed it into gray scale, and printed it out to give Pamela a concrete model. First, we did a color value study to study our shades of gray and labeled with the names of the things in the picture with the same shade: dark clouds (DC), grass (G), light clouds (LC), and trees (T). We practiced doing wet on wet, and Pamela watched me for starts and stops. We sprinkled it with salt for a misty effect, which fascinated Pamela. She struggled with relating the color study to the photograph, but, once we started painting, she was on a roll!
The Third Class (Colored Landscape)
Pamela loved this painting! She hummed while she painted and smiled several times. After she made her mountains (the wavy gray line in Part 2), Pamela gasped with joy. She loved the effect. Here are still shots of "watch and paint":
I scaffolded her more in the beginning (Part 1), when they were collecting and dabbing colors. A rainstorm mildly distracted her a little as did concerns over the power (the circuit breaker of an outlet popped).
Pamela referenced her teacher beautifully. She shifted between looking around the room and her teacher, waiting for Carrie to start. At one point, her instructor walked over to check the outlet, and Pamela shifted her attention and followed her movement. Pamela tuned out the chit-chat and knew to pay attention to instructions. At times, she waited at least 30 seconds for her teacher to paint and then Pamela would watch and paint. She rarely got ahead of her teacher, especially in Part 2.
I caught myself talking too much, especially in Part 1, and I was better at being quiet when Pamela relaxed and painted. I think my issue is the habit of making declarative comments which detract from spotlighting starts and stops. Plus, I sometimes get caught up in the product not the process. I need to loosen up.
At the end, Pamela is ready to quit. She waited for her classmates to finish talking and said, "Good! Wonderful!" Eventually, she told us she was finished.
Things to Do
Life got in the way of me doing as many painting lessons as I had planned last week. . .
Pamela had several very lovely moments during her third watercolor class. As always, we did a little bit of homework to review last week (monochromatic landscapes) and preview this week (color landscapes). I downloaded a landscape photograph in color changed it into gray scale, and printed it out to give Pamela a concrete model. First, we did a color value study to study our shades of gray and labeled with the names of the things in the picture with the same shade: dark clouds (DC), grass (G), light clouds (LC), and trees (T). We practiced doing wet on wet, and Pamela watched me for starts and stops. We sprinkled it with salt for a misty effect, which fascinated Pamela. She struggled with relating the color study to the photograph, but, once we started painting, she was on a roll!
The Third Class (Colored Landscape)
Pamela loved this painting! She hummed while she painted and smiled several times. After she made her mountains (the wavy gray line in Part 2), Pamela gasped with joy. She loved the effect. Here are still shots of "watch and paint":
I scaffolded her more in the beginning (Part 1), when they were collecting and dabbing colors. A rainstorm mildly distracted her a little as did concerns over the power (the circuit breaker of an outlet popped).
Pamela referenced her teacher beautifully. She shifted between looking around the room and her teacher, waiting for Carrie to start. At one point, her instructor walked over to check the outlet, and Pamela shifted her attention and followed her movement. Pamela tuned out the chit-chat and knew to pay attention to instructions. At times, she waited at least 30 seconds for her teacher to paint and then Pamela would watch and paint. She rarely got ahead of her teacher, especially in Part 2.
I caught myself talking too much, especially in Part 1, and I was better at being quiet when Pamela relaxed and painted. I think my issue is the habit of making declarative comments which detract from spotlighting starts and stops. Plus, I sometimes get caught up in the product not the process. I need to loosen up.
At the end, Pamela is ready to quit. She waited for her classmates to finish talking and said, "Good! Wonderful!" Eventually, she told us she was finished.
Things to Do
Life got in the way of me doing as many painting lessons as I had planned last week. . .
- Lead a lesson on painting a picture of a red barn that I found in The Seasons of America Past with David and Pamela. Give verbal instructions and turn away for a moment, while David verbally spotlights what he is doing to let Pamela see she can follow the cues of students, too.
- Contrast two techniques: wet-on-dry for painting the barn with the idea of wet-on-wet for an apple--note to self: buy a hair dryer for drying colors and get an old toothbrush for splattering paint and a box for storing supplies.
- Guide Pamela in placing each new color in different hole when doing a color value study.
- Keep in mind during class that limiting my declarative comments to starting and stopping focus the spotlight on our current objective. In short, I TALK TOO MUCH!
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