Allergies and Autism and Sensory Overload, Oh My! How to Make Halloween Inclusive

Halloween is right around the corner…here’s some of my top tips and tricks to make Halloween fun and to hand off to any of the indignant PTO moms who have forgotten that ALL kids want to have a good time…..

Running through Water

halloween

Though Halloween parties have turned into “Harvest Parties” at school, the anticipation and sentiment of Halloween is still timeless. As a parent I find myself still caught up in Halloween and creating spooky Pinterest fails and contemplating what candy I can pilfer from my child’s treat bag without him noticing. Some costumes are so realistically scary that I am not certain that my red meat consumption hasn’t finally caught up with me and am opening my door to the actual Grim Reaper himself. There is a revolving door of Elsas and Ninja Turtles who could just very likely just be the same child over and over again capitalizing on those homes who everyone knows passes out full sized candy bars.

A couple of years ago I was coordinating a party for my child’s 4th grade classroom. 20% of that classroom had food allergies. I gently reminded parents that the goal…

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Autism’s Lost Text Message

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One night as I was plugging in my son’s iPad, I noticed he got a text.  Many parents lose sleep over whether or not to invade their preadolescent’s privacy by looking at personal messages, but not me.  My child at 11 years old is completely illiterate and he had never gotten a text before.  I glanced around as if nervously waiting to get busted for reading it, but the truth was my stomach was in butterflies out of joy and excitement.

Hi A2.  This is Ryder

Are you in bed?????

If you aren’t what time do you go to bed???

Maybe I have been wrong!  Maybe school has been helping him truly cultivate and explore friendships after all! Real ones!  A2’s class picture was on the refrigerator and I ran to it to ask him which one was Ryder. I recognized several of the boys in his class but didn’t know anyone named Ryder. Unfortunately, my son has a severe language disorder called Childhood Apraxia of Speech in addition to Autism so I had no way of knowing for certain which one Ryder was because A2 enthusiastically would answer “yeh!” to every child I pointed to including the girls.  Could he be a child from the resource room?   I could not know that either because  the school will not tell me the names of any of the children in that room due to “privacy”.  The kids he spends the majority of the day with.  The kids who also probably never get or send texts or receive invites to play. The kids, like A2 who can’t just ask each other and then come home and tell their moms.

My husband and I were feeling almost hypervigilant over where we would know this child from since the phone number’s area code was from a city we used to live in many years ago.  A2’s real name is an unusual one, so clearly this is meant for him. How did he get A2’s number since A2 doesn’t even know it?  Does this child comprehend that A2 can’t read? Could this be an adult?  A teacher?  A predator?  My joy was quickly turning to irrationality as my husband texted back to give this Ryder person a piece of our mind!

As it turns out…..Ryder was trying to get in touch with A2.  Just not MY A2.  Ryder was in 6th grade and had just moved from the area code on the message to our area code and had met a new friend at his new school (not ours) that day, exchanged numbers and did what every 12 year old does when making new friends.  A2 was contacted by a ghost. An illusion of a promise of the world to come.

The coincidence lacked the sparkle of serendipity and sent a gut punch that made the butterflies swirling in my tummy fly out of my mouth and away into the sky out of reach.  One three lined text of 19 words, 57 characters, 6 question marks and 2 happy face emojis sent me into a 10 minute emotional tailspin ending in a disappointment.  While my reaction may seem dramatic and my sweet boy was oblivious, man alive, I know he would have LOVED for that text to be his if he knew. You see, that would mean someone wanted to tell him that they got a new skin in Minecraft, or ask him if he wanted to ride bikes to the park or see if he’s allowed to see that Jason Bourne movie. It would mean that someone might be sneaking him a You Tube video he isn’t allowed to watch at home or asking him if he thought the new girl was cute.   It would mean that someone was thinking of him right at that very moment. It would mean he had value to people other than me and his dad.  It would mean he was growing up.

Before this whole parent thing came along and made me loopy with worry, I used to help families move their loved ones into nursing homes.  One particular instance, I helped take inventory of a man’s belongings and I asked him to give me his wallet so I could start a resident account for him to keep his $10 bill safe. He refused and his wife asked to speak privately with me in the hall.  “I know he has no need for money here, but is there any way you can make an exception to let him keep it with him?”. I’m certain I did not handle the situation with sensitivity or understanding because she replied, ” We were never wealthy people but he was proud of the fact he always put food on the table or could hand his sons money when they needed something. That money in his pocket makes him feel like a man. And that, child, is all he has left to feel like one.”.  I let him keep the money and have contemplated since then what the last material thing I would hold on to would be and why. I just didn’t realize that it would come earlier in life and be a random text message that was not meant for my child.

These things.  These little things that give us a perceived sense of value–that we anchor to other things and make them into something more.  Ultimately, the text itself was probably meaningless to A2.  He however does very much care about all those things that receiving a text implies.  Having a way to communicate with the world makes you a part of it and having a rolling digital scroll of blue and white messages are like the receipt to prove it nowadays.  My friend’s daughter left her phone at home while she was at overnight camp and powered up when she returned home to 1022 unread text messages. I never did ask if she read them all.  I do know that A2 will never experience the betrayal that can come with adolescent friendships and are exacerbated by text messages.  No girlfriend break up text.  No secret texts between friends who are standing right there with him, exploiting his trust.  No anxiety over the three dots or “read” receipt.  No.  None of that. While I am disappointed that Ryder misdialed and reached out to the wrong A2, just for a moment I thought about grounding A2 from his device because he knows he shouldn’t be texting so late.

9/11. And Then Life Went On.


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About a week or so  before I turned 32 I realized exactly how selfish I was and just how little impact I had…but at the time I kept that to myself.   For many years I thought it possible I could one day be a leader. However, my cherubic cheeks,  diminutive size, my damaged ego strength and my faulty frontal lobe betrayed me every single time.  I was a cartoon character. An adult who looked and seemed like a child in every way.  Even while playing grown up in my power suits and single karat ring, the truth was I worked in management in state funded nursing facilities selling hopes of a dignified death to desperate families.  And they believed me because there was a level I understood vulnerability and how to soothe it as only a broken lady-child can.

On this particular September morning I whipped into the parking lot of the Skatetown roller rink just like I did every morning at about 8:45am. It gave me just enough time to snuff out my wake up cigarette, put my mascara on in my rearview mirror and dash across the street to the nursing home to get to my daily 9:00am.  As I dabbed the black goo onto my lower lashes, Bob and Tom or Frank and Steve or whoever the goofy morning team people were on that local station, broke in to Goo Goo Dolls to let everyone know that some bone head had flown their plane too low to clear one of the Twin Towers in Manahattan and had crashed right into it.  I shook my head and sighed as I twisted the brush back into its cocoon of gel and wondered if ANY adults knew what they were doing.  It was a beautiful day in the Midwest, though I am biased to any September day regardless of the conditions.  There is something about the promise of autumn as the slow and beautiful evolution into winter that is tangible visually, by smell, by temperature–such a visceral descent on all the senses toward the bleak and desolate blanket of cold and slush. Or perhaps I just appreciate when all good things must come to an end. As the radio duo blathered on, my assumption was that the plane was a small, single engine private jet that clipped the side of the building because the pilot couldn’t find a Starbucks before takeoff. It was worth being late to my meeting to see how this one was going to turn out, so I pulled out my makeup bag to put on the rest of my face.

At just after 9:00am, as I was thinking about cutting the engine and knocking on one of the 1st floor doors of the nursing home to get in, one of the DJs interrupted the other and there was an awkward silence for just a moment…just long enough that it caught my attention and I did not turn off my engine.  “Another plane just hit the 2nd tower.  I don’t understand what’s happening”.  And neither did I.  And neither did the rest of America.  I sat in my car and for the next 20 minutes listened intently to verbal chaos.  Once I realized no one knew anything, I dashed inside to the tail end of a the daily meeting I typically took over and attempted to lead out of frustration for lack of accountability.

“Did you guys hear about the Twin Towers?” , I asked breathlessly setting my purse on the table in front of me. Of course, they hadn’t…they were mostly grown ups and had been at work since 8:30am, like I should have been.  “some sort of accident…its probably satellite or something messing with air traffic control”.  I of course had no idea,but it was credible enough that people were concerned, I was in-the-know and NOW we have a meeting.

I walked back through the day room where there were two TVs on different stations but both were playing the same footage over and over.  There was no single engine private plane losing the edge of a wing. There was a commercial jet filled with people…regular people, that tore into the middle of the North Tower and immediately turned to smoke.  People on a Tuesday morning, many of which who were also on their way to their next morning meeting. Though there was still no explanation, if you stood long enough to watch all 17 minutes of footage, there were certain things you knew you could probably rule out.

“Becky….Becky…can you turn this crap off and put on my shows?”  Poor Pearl. She said my name with such certainty and yet my name is not Becky and there were no shows to put on this morning.  My heart leaped and sank at the same time as Pearl’s spindly fingers wrapped around my hand.  Her wedding bands spun lopsided on her thin ring finger and the diamond dug into my palm.  She would never contemplate what just happened and likely 10 minutes from now would not even remember sitting and watching the thousands of sacrificed souls who would forever change history in our country.  I wondered if this is what dementia must be like.  I stood there watching this tragedy unfold in footage so telling, so horrifying that even after it was over, it wasn’t over as the smoke poured out of each building as if they were chimneys. Papers and ashes fluttered and floated to the ground like the first snow while bodies surreal while airborne sank as if tied to anchors at the bottom of the sea.  Footage of chaotic and confused armies of identical living dead covered in head to toe gray soot were wandering trying to find a foxhole that did not exist.  Camera crews live filmed authoritative sounding officers  standing in the lobby strategizing their plan.  Community servants looking for leadership while nodding heads, axes raised and probably breathing the same sigh of hope I was that there were people who knew what they were doing and there would be an end of the day soon.  But then came the first BANG…loud enough that it was audible on the crappy 20 inch TV.  The workers stopped talking and looked around.  And then there it was again BANG.  And again.  I remember none of them moved or spoke a word but they looked to each other silently, uncomfortably.  It was that pause that made me know exactly what was falling to the ground over and over outside of those lobby windows.  They went back to talking about how to safely evacuate the higher floors with less authority and I was overcome with that same stillness.  And just when I had reconciled the first image of the planes crashing and exploding as the least shocking, it was shown again. Those of us who were not afflicted with dementia or a failing memory felt like we were seeing it again for the first time because now it couldn’t be confused with a bad action film that needed to be changed over to the Price is Right.  Now we had an idea of what came after as those recordings from ground zero became reality and unfurled into the collapse of the towers rather than a cut to the harried phone dispatcher who is also try to keep concerned citizens out of the red faced fire chief’s office.

And then life went on. I had a meeting the very next day with a former employer who wanted to me to come back to them and were willing to let me set my own schedule and pay my tuition for graduate school which started the following week.  I spoke nothing of 9/11 again.  An old colleague was sitting at her desk and I waved to her, smiling, telling her of my soon to be new-old life and how I looked forward to seeing her regularly soon.  She and her husband were important political figures in my city and I can only imagine what went through her mind as I bounced away seemingly oblivious to our hearts in our throats. I didn’t even ask about her son who lived right across the Hudson River.  But see…that was the thing.  I thought no one knew how to act because I didn’t.  It still was far enough away that we could all go on like normalish.  And I was politically aware enough to know other parts of the world were much more quietly dealing with genocides and bombings and terror every single day. To assume that American lives are so virtuous and valuable as a price above rubies as compared to the rest of the world made me feel conflicted and I wasn’t sure what to do with that even though no one was comparing.  I was newly married, had a new job on the horizon and was two years out from a new future and I didn’t want to think about what it meant to have an invisible enemy who could turn my vacation flight into an act of war.  And that is what I told myself. And then life went on.  And eventually it did for everyone else too. Life wondering exactly how a loved one died or if maybe they would show up some day.  Life fearful of people who hate freedom and creating terrorists out of neighbors and seatmates in our minds.  Life of conspiracy theories about government far beyond just the tinfoil hat people. Life of knowing just how good people can be to one another.  Life of knowing just how horrible people can be to one another.  And life went on.

 

 

5 Things You Should Know About IDEA

School is in full swing. Maybe you have a child on an IEP or 504 plan or perhaps you suspect your child would benefit from additional help or services. The Individuals With Disabilities Act is in place to make certain your child gets what he needs but like most laws it is not perfect. Here are some things you should probably know…..

Running through Water

IMG_4868 This tower is 4 years total of educational paper work for 2 kids and represents approximately over 300 hours of meetings, evaluations, reading and combing over data….JUST AS THE PARENT

I is for IEP, IDEA and Inclusion.

These three “I” words have forever changed me as a person.  If you have a child in special education, you probably just had a shiver run down your spine just by reading those acronyms in print and may be thinking the same thing.  All of these things serve as a blessing and a curse to our kids…and also to the educators and administration serving them.  Back in the day, the Individuals with Disability Act (IDEA) was enacted to refine and replace what few laws there were to protect children with disabilities within the education system.  It was meant to also focus more on the individual rather than on the disability itself.  IDEA has…

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Autism and the Dentist: Top 5 Tips for Successful Visits

**DISCLAIMER**.  The first half of this is the How Did We Get Here part.  The second is How Can You Maybe Get Here part.  Feel free to scroll to the second part…I promise you won’t hurt my feelings.

 

“How’d it go?”  I hacked out with the phone resting between my ear and the bed.

“Well,” my husband hesitated, “After he bit through the little mirror thingy and puked all over the dentist she told me that you should bring him from now on since you have more control”.

I usually took A2 to all medical appointments but had succumbed to a virus that resembled the plague and the only thing worse than me having the plague is A2 having the plague.  Normally, Mr ATeam and I are a pretty good team when it comes to him but one area I quietly held resentment was having to be the heavy when it came to medical stuff.  A2’s anxiety is through the roof if he even THINKS its possible he has a medical appointment.  For awhile I had to drive a different route to the highway because we PASSED THE STREET to his pediatrician on the regular route and we could count on screaming, thrashing and tears until we were well on the road.  He even developed  pre-cognitive psychic abilities regarding medical appointments and would wake up with a big pouty lip with his first garbled words of the day being “no doc-er”.  On a side note, my cat used to do the same thing for vet appointments.  He would already be completely missing by the time I would have the carrier waiting by the door. Maybe my poker face isn’t as good as I think.

I blew my nose without regard to the fact I was on the phone, ” Did you have extra clothes and a towel with you? Is he ok?”.

“Yeah, he’s fine.  But I think we should change dentists…what the hell?”  I knew he was referring more to his own bruised ego but also to having no idea just how difficult dental appointments were.  He had experienced the pre-appointment anxiety and even parts of the wind up to the meltdown but the full on explosion with physical aggression and vomiting was newish for him since this was my area to tackle as a free agent and not a team since I had more work flexibility.  He knew appointments were difficult but I don’t think until that day he fully realized my anxiety and careful planning around the twice a year dental check ups, the annual physical exam, the quarterly endocrinologist appointments, annual neuro, GI and orthotist visits.  In other words….at least once a month I had to carefully plan an entire day around a doctor appointment because I was never sure how it was going to go down.  It takes its toll as a mom.

And the most heartbreaking part for me wasn’t even absorbing A2’s anxiety or physically holding him down or by my own bruised ribs or aching muscles or watching him turn purple and sweaty in hysterics with a handful of my ripped out hair.  No…it was always that moment he knew the appointment was almost over and he would turn his head to the nurse or doctor or dentist and through his hyperventilation and tears he would give them a thumbs up.  Cru-shing.  He knew no one was really going to hurt him.  He likely heard all the gentle words about his safety and social stories about visiting the dentist.  He likely knew this was something we all have to do for self-care. And yet he also knows he has no control over that autistic brain of his to prevent the escalation.  Always a reminder that I just have to try harder for him.

Fast forward to yesterday.  11 years, 2 months, 26 days into A2’s short little place on the planet he had his very first REAL dental cleaning and x-rays.  Mild drama and tears….and he is still proclaiming “no doc-er” this morning. But no contusions, no sweating, no projectile vomiting.  He even left the office smiling covered in Avengers stickers and with an armful of autism-unfriendly prizes from the prize box (see exhibit A ).

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Exhibit A.  Prize box find.  A tiny diaphragm for your kid’s windpipe.

I left the office knowing that my kid had no cavities, no gum disease and apparently he only has one more baby tooth left in his beautiful little mug. So how did this happen?   A2 still hates having his teeth brushed at home….this will likely never be something he ENJOYS. Certainly no miracles and no single place to take credit, but here are some things that have helped.

  1.  Find a dentist who recognizes sensory processing issues/oral aversions/autism/mental health issues as real conditions and not as being difficult to be difficult.  Make sure the dentist and their staff are not fearful and can approach your child in a calm but authoritative way.  If you are uncomfortable with any part of the procedure or philosophy or office set up, discuss it with the staff or move on.  And it does not hurt if the dentist is eye candy.  But that is just for you moms/dads….your kid probably won’t care about that part.
  2. Consistency and exposure.  Don’t NOT take your child to the dentist because you think he will wig out.  This doesn’t mean you have to get him in the dental chair right out of the gate if it is too much like visiting with Willy Wonka’s dentist dad.  Take baby steps.  Bring him to sibling appointments. Bring him in between visits just to say hi to the staff, look at the fish in the tanks, or check out the new toys or stickers in the prize boxes. Read books about going to the dentist. We took pictures of step by step A1’s appointments and made a social story for A2.  Reward approximations toward compliance.  Document it for yourself so you can increase your expectations of him as you move forward.
  3. Bear in mind what triggers your kid and plan for it.  While you don’t want to sneak attack your kid when it comes to appointments, if you know that too much advance warning will cause perseveration without extinguishing his anxiety or will cause escalation in the days ahead…then don’t tell him yet.  Figure out the “sweet spot” for that.  For A2, we nebulously talk about dental things between visits and tell him about the appointment in the car the day of.  Other kids all is well and good until they see the dental equipment.  Find out if there is alternate equipment available and have them use it while exposing him to the stuff that scares him.  For years, we used cups of water instead of the squirt gun and suction thingy from hell.  We used a regular tooth brush and the toothpaste from home.  The dentist wore my sunglasses instead of the big, nerdy lab glasses.  And for the love of all things holy….if your kid is a puker…DON’T feed him before the appointment!
  4. Talk to others. Discuss the issue with a speech therapist to see if there are oral motor exercises that will help desensitize him before visits.  Your BCBA or psychologist should also have a trove of ideas or may even work on this as a behavioral goal with him.  Talk to the intervention specialist–especially if she is very experienced because it is likely she has helped other families in the past come up with ideas tailored to help specific problems.  She is likely the only other person who knows your kid’s quirks or difficulties with compliance and is constantly planning for it. Consult your autism village…another parent might have a helpful hint for you.
  1. Know Thyself.  I no longer martyr myself when it comes to appointments.  My husband did not know I was heavily grieving and fearful of these appointments and I think he started recognizing my anticipatory anxiety as such instead of just assuming I was being histrionic.  If you need to trade off…do so.  It doesn’t have to be a spouse.  Your kid picks up on your anxiety even if you think you are cool as a cucumber….but you already know this from other experiences. You see cukes…he sees pickles. Ask for help if you can.  Leave the room if he is more compliant without you being present.  Do not see it as a failure if you cannot overcome this hurdle. Many families cannot.  Contact your local chapter of The Autism Society, Autism Speaks or Board of Developmental Disabilities to help you locate a clinic that is trained and licensed to sedate or restrain as a last resort.