BooYAH for Babysteps

You know those crazy stories we have all heard where an unsuspecting woman gives birth without realizing she was even pregnant?  I kind of relate to that woman now.

Last Saturday, September 16th, Gizmo and I successfully completed the public access testing required for a dog to become a certified service dog.  The test is used to demonstrate that I am capable of handling the dog in public and that the dog demonstrates manners appropriate for public access.  He had to be exposed to food in a public arena without attempting to take it, remain sitting while I walked away, stay calm when other animals entered his space, and demonstrate many other skills.  Gizmo handled the entire test beautifully, and I was so happy for him!  We returned to the parking lot and our trainer, Rob, gave me some pointers in loading and unloading Gizmo. He then handed me the leash and said, “He’s ready to go.”

“Ready to go?  As in ready to go home – to my house – permanently?”

Indeed.  After discussing some financial arrangements and other details, I loaded up Gizmo and started my drive home in a shocked stupor of thought.  I knew this day was coming but had not prepared myself.  I was completely unprepared.  The house was in its usual state of shambles – a state that I guess Gizmo may as well become acquainted with sooner than later – and I was unsure how hubby and Luke would react.  I didn’t know how I would react.  I’ve never really had a real pet – aside from a couple of strays taken in and loved for a short time.  This guy was literally going to be a new member of the family, and we had nothing prepared to welcome him.

With no small amount of trepidation, I unloaded Gizmo and took him into our home to wp-image-933974955meet his match.  Although Luke has met Gizmo before, we have not done much training directed at bonding the two of them.  As I brought them together, Luke threw his arms around the dog’s neck in a nose-to-nose death grip; his eyes lit up playfully and he puffed out his cheeks in his typical greeting to a loved one, then screeched, “DO YOU WANT GIZMO TO DO A BLOWFISH FACE?!”

What do you think, Rob?  You down for training this dog to make a happy blowfish face for the man?

We still have a lot of work to do.  Gizmo is certified as a public access service dog, but we will still need regular, professional training sessions to help us integrate him into the family.  Our greatest accomplishment with the new team is that Luke is no longer trying to poke Gizmo’s eyes out!  Booyah for babysteps!

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We Fart!

In my childhood visions of motherhood, I would come home to a clean house and happy children who would lovingly greet me with joyful hugs and kisses.  Yesterday, I came home and was greeted by Luke, who ran into the kitchen the moment I walked through the door and excitedly declared, “We FART!!”

Why yes, son, we do.  I am so happy that you have learned this exciting new concept.

This is just the latest in a string fun, new summertime discoveries:

After listening to his parents speak in church, he came to the sudden and quite vocal realization that, “We don’t pee in the freezer!”  (And, yes, he did try it.)

20170713_205600If he wants to get Mom’s attention, a sure fail method has always been to sample a variety of nonfood items.  This summer, however, Luke has kicked it up a notch above just rocks, dirt. and dried up manure.   Those are just so old school.  He knows that if you really want a reaction, you have to get creative!   Try some bird poop off the headstones during a visit to the cemetery on Memorial day.  A long, deep swig of teal acrylic paint (dumped into a cup for easier drinking) lacks creativity but sure generates a nice little Mommy tantrum.  Need a little protein?  How about a large, fresh, juicy slug from the raspberry patch? mmmmm!

I can honestly say that my childhood dream did not include having this conversation with my legitimately worried four-year-old daughter at bedtime:

“Are you sure about this, Mom?  Are you sure this toothbrush hasn’t been up Luke’s butt?”

“Yes, I’m sure, darling. I throw those toothbrushes away as soon as he brings them to me to smell.”

Ah, the real-life dreams of motherhood: dreams of those beautiful days when I am greeted only by the innocent and excited declaration that, “We fart!”

 

 

Unfortunately Fortunate

3476Fortunately, I have a sweet ten-year-old son with autism.

Unfortunately, a significant manifestation of his autism is a glaring lack of impulse control.

Fortunately, Luke discovered a love for building vehicles out of wood kits.

Unfortunately, the wood must be painted.

Fortunately, Luke loves to paint.

Unfortunately, I turned my back.

Fortunately, he only emptied two containers of acrylic paint.

Unfortunately, black and John Deere Green do not match my kitchen floor, even if the footprints tracked around it were kind of cute.

Fortunately, Luke knew this had to be cleaned up and tried to do it by himself!

Unfortunately, he’s not very good at it yet.

Fortunately, he obeyed immediately when I told him to go wash up in the bathroom.

Unfortunately,  a brand new container of hair spray was left out on the container.

Fortunately, he left the hairspray alone.

Unfortunately, he opted for the Vaseline instead.

Fortunately, he washed his hands.

Unfortunately, he unloaded the entire Vaseline container into the sink drain.

Fortunately, Luke recognized that he needed to change his painted clothes.

Unfortunately, I have not done laundry and his backup pair of shorts was not clean.

Fortunately, he looked for his gray shorts.

Unfortunately, he looked by dumping out all of the clothing in the laundry room – both clean and dirty.

Fortunately, he found a pair of pajama bottoms as an adequate substitute.

Unfortunately, his search resulted in a 3-foot-deep sea of laundry.

Fortunately, I don’t mind folding laundry.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know the water in the bathroom was still on.

Fortunately, my husband heard it.

Unfortunately, Vaseline makes an amazing hydrophobic plug.

Fortunately, I am very experienced in flood cleanup.

Unfortunately, water was already pouring from the ceiling in the basement, filled the vanity drawers, and created a very effective wading pool in the bathroom.

Fortunately, I now have clean drawers.

Fortunately, laundry is now all sorted and clean clothes are folded.

Fortunately, my kitchen floor got a nice wipe down.

Fortunately, I love my son!

LUKE – I AM YOUR FATHER

While I was still pregnant with Luke and considering names for the perfect, little boy that would soon be joining us, I remember distinctly the moment that the name Luke popped into my head.  I was stopped at a stop sign in our tiny little town on my way home from grocery shopping.  Suddenly, I just heard it in my head, “Luke.”  That is a very nice name and I think it meets all my criteria.

  1. I have never dated a Luke.
  2. It is short.
  3. It doesn’t rhyme with any derogatory words.
  4. It will not be mispronounced.
  5. It is common enough to not be weird, but not so common that three kids turn around every time I call his name.

I took the idea home to my husband.  Who immediately agreed.  The name had also come to him.  Of course, he had a much more practical reason for liking the name.  “After all,” he said, “I have always wanted to say, ‘Luke, I am your father!'”

And so it was that Luke came to be Luke.  We knew Luke was perfect when he was born.  His life was a miracle. We loved every piece of his 5 pound, 11 ounce body.  We watched him grow and waited eagerly to introduce him to Star Wars so he could meet the hero that inspired his name.  As time went on, though, we began to realize that our perfect son may not ever understand the humor in his Daddy’s words, “Luke, I am your father.”

The unfortunate fact is that the movie Star Wars is notably lacking tractors of any kind.  Now if our hero, Luke Skywalker, were to fly through space in a John Deere tractor battling evil farmer clones in combines, Luke might be convinced to watch.  However, since Luke prefers harvesters to jet fighters and perfectly hitched fertilizer sprayers to witty robots, we reconciled ourselves to the hopelessness of introducing our Luke to THE Luke.  Until today.

Unlike Luke, Thomas loves all things Star Wars, so he was elated when I offered to let him watch one of the DVDs on my laptop today.  Not long after the movie began, Luke bounded into the room, and I thought, “Well, that was fun while it lasted,” knowing the battle that would follow.

However, instead of pushing away his loud, aggressive, older brother, Thomas excitedly invited Luke to join him.  “Luke, you wanna watch a show with me?   The hero is Luke – just like you!  C’mon!”

20170409_144259Luke happily plopped himself next to his brother.  They hugged for a few minutes and then resumed the movie.  Luke lost interest after a few minutes and has been in and out of the room many times, but each time he returns, he is welcomed by his little brother who pauses Star Wars long enough to love on Luke.

Who knows, with enough loving invitations, maybe Luke will understand the story someday.  After all, “The force is strong with this one!”

Birthday Boy

Birthdays.  As kids we look forward to them and countdown the days until we are able to say we are really one year older.  We look forward to the cake, the candles, the ice cream, the people, the party,  and most of all, the presents!  Luke turned 10 this week, but his interest in any of the typical joys of birthday celebration are anything but typical.  We celebrated Luke’s special day at my parent’s home.  This has become our norm whenever we have get togethers of any significant size since our kitchen table, chairs, and any other form of seating were, “Luked,” long ago.  We have simply given up replacing such items and have opted for a small, folding table and a couple of sturdy thrift store benches for the rare instances that the family actually sits down to eat together.

The struggle with birthdays for Luke is that the number of people who love him and want to celebrate with him greatly exceeds the number of people he can tolerate in one room.  The chaos and chatter is simply overwhelming and sent him quickly to the basement, away from the party.  His pain was so clearly evident as the tears welled up in his wide, sad eyes.  He choked them back, just like any other ten year-old boy would do and clung to my arm while I tried to coax a bite or two of spaghetti into him.  I knew what was wrong, but I ask him anyway, ever hoping that he will miraculously start verbalizing his feelings.

“Oh, Luke, I want you to be happy on your birthday.  What’s the matter?”

“Do you want to work for a tractor?”

“Of course, you want a tractor!  It’s your birthday, and one of your presents has a tractor in it.  Should we go find it?”

“Yes!”

We interrupted the family’s dinner and quickly lit candles and blew them out.  Luke dutifully sang to himself through the tears.  He blew out his candles and ripped open the first gift he was handed.  Clothes.  Toss them aside.  Open the next gift: clothes. Toss them aside.  Finally, the tractor.  A remote controlled excavator that I knew he would love.  And he did.  The new toy bought us an hour or so to visit with family and then head for home to deliver medicine and tuck the birthday boy in.

The birthday boy, however, had endured an entire day of changed up routines and over stimulation.  He completely lost it in an epic meltdown of kicking, screaming and self-injury.  None of my typical soothing techniques were up to the task of calming my raging son.  In desperation, I broke out a gift I had tucked away for him for Christmas – a handheld electric massage tool.  I tried to massage his back – usually his favorite – but not tonight.  Head? No. Feet? No.  Finally, he grabbed my hand and placed it on his tummy.   We crawled into a sort of fort under the blanket on my bed massaged his bare little belly.  Slowly the tears were replaced by smiles and cuddles.  In the quiet stillness of our sleepy house, Luke finally had his happy birthday.  No noise.  No light. Just a tummy massage and a mamma’s attention all to himself.

“I love you, sweet boy,” I whispered to him.

He didn’t respond, but his little hand squeezed mine just a little tighter.

No words necessary.

 

 

Blowfish Face

It is commonly believed that the sense of humor is a casualty of autism; that somehow the ability to understand humor dies with the ability to understand or use language.  I do not believe this.  Humor is a highly personalized sense; what makes me giggle often makes my own mamma roll her eyes.  And so it is with my own children, and especially with my Luke.  It is not uncommon for him to break into uncontrollable laughter at what seems to be a completely normal situation.  Perhaps something he sees triggers a memory that I am not privileged to share, or maybe there really is something funny about that field of freshly plowed dirt he stares at through the window of our passing car.  Either way, Luke enjoys his sense of humor, and it is a beautiful thing to witness.

Most recently, Luke has discovered the joy of the blowfish face.  That’s not so different; I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a good blowfish face from time to time?  Luke, however, has taken it from a momentary exchange of goofiness to a method of connecting with the people around him.  He has learned, through lots and lots of testing, that when a typical person is confronted with a blowfish face, it is virtually impossible not to meet that with an equally silly, if not down right ridiculous, blowfish face.

Case and point:

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My amazing husband is met at the door every evening by blowfish face.  The exchange that follows is one that the casual observer would discount as a playful father-son moment.  However, as I watched last night’s interaction, I saw so much more.  I saw my boy connecting with his dad on a most intimate and loving level.  I saw him share his desire to communicate as they exchanged silly blowfish faces.  I saw them sharing a moment that was funny to both the giver and the receiver and an understanding that we all enjoyed the same happy emotion.

 

 

 

 

 

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In that moment, we were all on the same playing field, speaking the same language, and reacting with the same giggles.  I imagined Luke thinking, “Look at me; I am not so very different.  You and I do the same face, and we both laugh.  I am yours and you are mine.  We are connected by this silly face that we both share.”

 

Blowfish face can quickly get out of hand, however.  The game is so completely stimulating that Luke simply cannot contain his emotions and they overflow into self-stimulatory behavior (commonly know as, “stims,” in the autism world).    He runs and prances about while biting his finger on one hand and pounding on his leg with the other.  It is a reaction that has become commonplace to those who know him best and is brought on by any sudden change of emotion – both positive and negative.  Once he bites, the game must end, but the joy of the moment becomes part of Luke’s world – maybe a moment that will bring the back seat giggles at passing fields.

So, if you see us out and about and are greeted by an up close and personal blowfish face, please understand that this is Luke’s own unique sense of humor seeking to connect with you and reciprocate with an equally impressive blowfish face of your own.

Freedom to Move

Sometimes I just want to move. Move freely – without interruption – from point A to point B.  All day long, I find myself strategically planning my movements.  How can I get from the kitchen to the bathroom without collecting a toddler taking a ride on my feet, an eight year-old clinging to my shirt, and a Luke tugging on my right index finger, directing me to his latest hitching problem.  Managing movement is a problem for me in every way.

Luke, on the other hand, has no problem moving freely.  After teaching himself to ride a bike, I was chasing my 4 year-old dare devil through the neighborhood, down hills and over bumps that I thought would surely buck him off.  They never did, and he relished the freedom to quickly move from our house to Grandma & Grandpa’s two houses down the street.

While I enjoy riding with Luke, we never went far as I was constantly on guard.  His fascination with hitches literally drives him to any vehicle that has a hitch.  Our ability to really ride freely was limited at best.

Enter our hero, Grandpa.  He had the inspiration to design a bike that could be hitched to a lead bike – allowing Luke to pedal and enjoy the movement of a bike ride while the driver in front controls the direction. After many hours of research on what designs are already available and what our specific needs were, he designed a hitch that has been life chaging for us.  The hitch attaches to the seat of the lead bike and the front wheel axles of an adult sized trike.  The hitch can move side to side, up and down, and can rotate, so if one bike is tipped on its side, the other bike doesn’t tip over.

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Luke, with my brother, on the first of many, many bike rides this summer.  He has lost 13 lbs. this summer, thanks largely to all of the biking he has done.

We ride where ever we want to go now.  We can ride to the playground, park, or church.  Usually, though, we just ride wherever a whim takes us – up and down the streets of town, safely enjoying the freedom of undeviated movement.  Now, if only I could get to the bathroom so easily . . .