What's a Wordle?

Designed by Jonathon Feinberg, a wordle is a computer generated collage of text made instantly at the wordle.net site. Here is one made from the text of my blog. A fun toy for the hyperlexic ; try it with our kids or by yourself! It could be typing practice, thank you note writing, scripture memory experiment and a productive stim all at once. The possibilities are endless.

Reid is smitten with writing lists right now--lists of his favorite movies, lists of Saturday's events, lists of book authors, lists of Barney episodes. Wonder if wordle.net on his dock would be as compelling as Youtube?

When he was first diagnosed by a doctor in Berkeley, she told us in her gracious, holistic, bohemian way, "This is a kid who who loves words. Loves the sound of them falling off his tongue and the look of them on a page." I appreciated her child-centered approach and the fact that she did not read us DSMV codes and dire prognoses but rather observed Reid keenly looking for his uniqueness and celebrating him with us--at least for a few minutes. Those minutes were a gift, like sitting with a painter to hear him describe the inspiration of a piece de resistance.

Later, in actual fact, she passed us off to an associate who had done the battery of pragmatic tests and delivered the obligatory, more doomsday recommendations and findings. It is hard to forget--but I won't repeat--certain phrases she put in her report. Good thing I have trained myself to focus on whatever is praiseworthy and upright! Philippians 4:8 has been prophetic ever since we chose it as a wedding verse. Twenty one years later, I see how God knew Jim and I would need to apply it many times over in our life together.

Words!

"...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." Phillippians 4:8

“As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the LORD is flawless.” Psalm 18:30

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away. Matthew 24:35

Yubo Would Go

Once a quarter, our weekends turn into marathons of active duty requiring 2 fully caffeinated adults on a mission to divide and conquer, in order to accomplish the intricate array of rehearsals, call times, college fairs, recitals, practices, and gigs (not their own) laid out in a 30-mile radius.

To pull it off last Saturday, I needed Yubo's help. Jim and I both wanted to see The Kingsmen's noontime concert at the American Music Therapy Conference. Kat had to work. Allie doesn't drive for another 6 months.

I called Yubo to ask my favor. Could he transport Allie from symphony to chamber? Once he realized who I was, "yes, no problem."

I continued with my female incantation of the why's and wherefore's of our scheduling conflict. We'd get her downtown and home at the end, but that middle run cross-town coincided with Reid's gig. It would be oh-so-helpful if he would do it. Of course, he'd already said yes, but I felt the need to embellish.

"Don't worry. I get her there," came his crisp reply.

Oh, I know you will Yubo, I thought to myself and on time. What a guy!

Better Living thru Chemistry...ha!

Ten months ago I almost wrote a post (at the suggestion of a puffed up psychiatrist in a fallen economy) portraying Reid as the poster child for the benefits of Abilify. Overnight, it seemed last December, the amp was turned down on his rage. His ability could shine without the glare of interruption or explosion. Suddenly, there was a filter on his impulses and reactions. I totally understood how they had named this product.

The dramatic change was epitomized by his entrance on the morning bus. He walked slowly down our brick walk, stepped lightly into the bus, said "good morning" in a regular voice, and calmly took his assigned seat. I wish I had a picture of what could only have been captured previously on video. Lightning fast, he had been in the habit of bolting out the door, storming the still moving vehicle, darting to his seat nearly decapitating anything in the path of the swinging backpack on his shoulder, then plopping down with a dramatic thud.

This new, slower, calmer demeanor came as a great relief to our household. I realized one morning how significantly the "right med" could impact him socially as well as improve others' perception of him. No longer did peers have to duck and cover when they saw him coming. This would certainly foster conversation and friendship. And it did for 10 months. I was celebrating with friends, family, and pharmacists all over town.

BUT, we just reached the end of our Abilify rope. Agitation, obsession, and perseveration at an all time high, I pulled the plug after a sleepless, prayerful night last Saturday deciding cold turkey was the way to go. There was no denying the tense stuck-ness and resulting mania was chemically induced, debilitating, and as bad if not worse than the pre-Abilify symptoms we were supposed to be addressing.

Drugs are serious folks, not to be reckoned with lightly. Allie had an annoying, persistent bug last week. In desperation facing some mandatory commitments she couldn't shirk, we visited the on-call Saturday doc at the medical center we don't frequent. He non-chalantly prescribed doxycycline for what he presumed was walking pneumonia. Less than 48 hours later she could not breath or eat and was clinging to me in fear at bedtime. "I feel worse, Mom, don't leave," she cried. Calling Jim in to hold her hand, I quickly google searched an explanation. She was suffering from notorious allergic reactions and/or side effects to the drug itself. Not prone to rush to the hospital, we rode it out by pumping tons of water and running instead to our chiropractor nutritionist the next morning.

She is on the mend after he adjusted her hiatal hernia and prescribed two nutritional supplements to restore the healthy flora in her intestinal track. Allie learned an important lesson in comparing health care modalities and avoiding use of controlled substances.

I stand assured that my previous caution remains the way to go. During the Abilify-honeymoon, I nearly apologized to the docs (and Reid) for waiting so long to medicate. We were slow to try anything, preferring to exhaust the natural alternatives of the DAN! protocol, the Pfeiffer Clinic, osteopathy, solid nutrition supplements, fish oil, and any other non-invasive option that came our way.

We eventually did trials of at least five indicated drugs only to experience adverse effects. Hives, vomiting, and face-down distress on manhole covers at recess convinced us to halt and fast. Every med undeniably complicated matters and added more variables to the equation. Until Abilify. It seemed to be the magic bullet. But no. Woe, there is no such thing.

"Life is a long process," as Jim says. We forage on in search of workable solutions for the chapter at hand. As my dear friend, Carolyn, pointed out to me years ago over another matter, God often tells us just one step at a time. When his directions seem counter-intuitive it doesn't mean we heard them wrong. He just tends to keep us attentive, flexible, nimble and never idle.

Case in point, when God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, He meant it. As bizarre and horrifying as it was, Abraham complied. Then at the top of the hill, at the eleventh hour, God provided a ram in the thicket, telling Abraham to unbind poor Isaac. He meant that too. Abraham heard and obeyed both times. What if he had only listened the first time? What if he'd stubbornly refused the second time sticking to his guns saying, "No, I won't untie Isaac, I was told to sacrifice him and I will no matter what."

Many things don't make sense to me. Maybe that is why I'm quoting platitudes. My mom is known to say, "we walk in the light that we have." At any given time, we pray, listen, and follow. Abilify was then. This is now. I don't look back with regret but with gratitude for lessons learned and the process of elimination.

Switching doctors once again, I am getting the lay of the chemical landscape. Hope remains that this new doctor's old school approach (with drugs that have been around longer) will yield benefits that can be sustained. I am forever on my knees listening and always on the lookout for a substitute in the bushes.

You know I'll keep you posted.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven Ecclesiastes 3:1-3

So Abraham called that place The LORD will provide. And to this day it is said, "On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided." Genesis 22:13-15

Because of your great compassion you did not abandon them in the desert. By day the pillar of cloud did not cease to guide them on their path, nor the pillar of fire by night to shine on the way they were to take. You gave your good Spirit to instruct them Nehemiah 9:19-21

Top 10 Tuesday

Top 10 Ways to Engage with a Teenager

(ASD or not)

10. Lay in the hammock

9. Smell something cooking on the stove

8. Crawl inside the netted trampoline at dusk

7. Have a silly "yes-no" battle

6. Crank up a song on the car radio

5. Look through some old photo albums

4. Share a pair of ipod earbuds

3. Chill in the car for a coupla' minutes after parking in the driveway

2. Take dramatic deep breaths

1. Share a bag of Fritos

So often my attempts to engage Reid are really demands I make of him. No wonder he resists. I was sufficiently trained by Serena Weider in the Floortime modality years ago but I need reminders that goofing off is productive. Is it time to update the days of Playmobil guys and Winnie the Pooh to something more relevant to teens? What percentage of our dialogue with teens--on or off the spectrum--is inquisition vs. engagement, threatening vs. listening, corrective vs. receptive?

An adult psychologist in San Diego, Dr. Alan Lincoln, has an adult brother on the spectrum. He shared a story once that stuck with me. He was particularly busy one weekend when his brother called for his weekly visit. The NT brother felt guilty for being distracted and not as emotionally available as usual, pulled in a tug-of-war of demands on his time.

The ASD brother grabbed something from his brother's fridge, sat on his brother's patio briefly, then headed out the door saying, "thanks I feel much better now." His brother's relational needs were different from his own. It doesn't take as much as we think to make someone feel welcome, accepted, and connected.

Truth be told, Allie does most of these better than I do.

If anyone says, "I love God," yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen. 1 John 4:19-21

Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me. John 15:3-5

The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still. Exodus 14:13-15

Somebody's Watching...Who's Listening?

When I was a new mom I often imagined being watched. The adoption process requires jumping through a lot of hoops, proving you're worthy, and otherwise impressing everyone from lawyers, to pregnant teens, to county employees with your perfect parent potential. Not necessarily a foolproof system; not the way God does it; just the way it is. Perhaps the fact that we were forcibly put under this microscope made me more self-conscious than most new moms.

My imagination was not so far fetched to conjure up a birthmother stalking us from behind the bushes at a local park eyeing my way with her offspring or peeping in our condo windows confirming her choice as she saw my affectionately winning ways with twins. (I've never told anyone this; November must be true confession month.) Being scrutinized and having to earn my stripes, probably made me a better mom.

My niece just moved in with us to embrace the California lifestyle. In short order, she has improved our quality of life substantially. I will be bummed when she makes enough friends to get her own apartment. She must be exhausted playing as many roles as she does to each member of our family. Being 25 years old puts her smack in the middle of the proverbial generation gap. She is a motivational novelty like none other for Reid. Her cheerful, empathetic interest in his day livens up our dinner conversation more than candlelight. She has become the namesake for his new favorite trampoline maneuver: dance dance revolution Kat-style!

Kat and Allie are like sisters neither one of them has had. She drives a convertible Beetle (way cooler than mom) and shares her hip wardrobe as readily as a personal shopper at Nordstrom's. Her memory of high school and college are still vivid enough to shed light. Her life choices are happening in real time for Allie to witness.

Actually, she is old enough, wise enough and foodie enough to be a lot like the sister I never had too! Having Kathryn here means that I am no longer alone with my thoughts. We were constant companions during the first weeks when she was unemployed and without wheels. Wanting to be sociable, apparently I began to say things out loud to her that had previously been left unsaid (or at least unheard). She would compliment, ""Your internal monologue is hilarious. You're cracking me up, I can't stand it, stop...." Who knew? I never thought of myself as that funny. She is at once a mirror, a sounding board, and an audience. Oh my goodness, she just told me she loves to iron! Jackpot, I tell you. Having a confidante and adoring fan is (in my humble opinion), making me a better writer.

Arguably, we all have an internal monologue of some sort; a conversation that goes on inside our head that others (usually) do not hear. In Reid's extroverted case, it is there for all to hear. Allow me to introduce another character in his repertoire of all-time favorites. Drum roll please......Allie-in-the-tummy. Although she has not been immortalized on the silver screen or merchandised to the hilt, she is precious to us and critical to his well being.

When she first arrived, it seemed Reid was talking to himself. Jim would correct, "Allie is upstairs, Reid. Go up there so she can hear you." He rebuffed, "No, not the real Allie, Allie-in-the-tummy." Or more directly, "Quiet! I'm talking to Allie," as if we had no manners at all.

At second glance, this talking to an imaginary person was slightly disturbing, especially given that he holds both sides of the conversation.

R: "No, Allie I don't want to do homework....it's hard. I can't" (with real tears)

A-i-t-T: "Well, you have to Reid. Mom said. I know you can do it. You're a smart boy. I'll help you...come on..."

R: "Ok Allie. You're right."

Another time during the flow of homework, we overheard this adoring dialogue:

A-i-t-T:"Reid, you look so cute in that picture."

R: "I know Allie but let's get back to work."

Allie-in-the-tummy has a slightly higher intonation and is always patient, wise, loving, and encouraging. She accompanies him to school, on the bus and to bed. Like Jiminy Cricket, she helps discern right from wrong. (I just learned that Jiminy Cricket was originally a euphemistic expletive to replace taking Jesus' (J.C.) name in vain. Ironic.

At third glance, it may seem like a twin thing, a residual of twin talk that developed when they separated for a large chunk of the day at different schools. At fourth glance (and believe me I 've pondered it more than 4 times), it is healthy self-talk, way more pertinent than any counsel or cognitive behavior theory the school psychologist may give him.

Having a readily available guide helps Reid make better choices. Furthermore, hearing his thought process helps me to understand his internal struggles and the function of some of his behavior.

So it is that I have ultimately landed on the spiritual application. Allie-in-the-tummy is akin to the voice of the Holy Spirit any of us might hear whispering in our right ear--advising, convicting, spurring us on to do good. In keeping with the character of God the Father, the Spirit's nature is faithful, upright, pure, of good repute, fair, forgiving, and tender. The opposite of the enemy's voice, His is also distinct from our own sinful human nature. We would do well to follow Reid's example, quiet ourselves, "take a minute" (as defined in his Behavior Intervention Plan) and listen for that still small voice.

Having the Holy Spirit to instruct us, makes us more like Christ.

The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way, no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. 1 Corinthians 2:9-12

Your ears will hear a word behind you, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever you turn to the right or to the left. Isaiah 30:20-22

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; John 10:26-28

Tight Spots

I chuckled empathetically to see how precious Rhema looks, at 4, climbing into (or out of) this washing machine. Flooding my mind's eye are tight spots Reid has sought and found over his lifespan. From the recyling bin on the windowsill of our cellar stairs in Chicago to the built-in china hutch by the back door, he is like a little caterpillar finding choice spots to form a crysalis and hang for a couple months.

I remember losing him temporarily at a Home Depot once. Allie and I had a search-and-recover plan devised by then. I was relieved to hear the calm in her voice as she merely pointed, "Mom..." He was happily jabbering in a stack of 18" resin planters in the Garden Center.

Last night Allie and Kat were laughing uncontrollably on their pillows. This morning I asked, "what was sooo funny?" They were howling over an after-school moment that I hadn't realized was so hysterical. Pour quoi pas? Once they explained, I see the joke was on me this time.

Situational comedy requires a backstory. You got time?

Reid's been pining for an aluminum garbage can for awhile. The plastic yard waste ones we have are just not adequate to reenact the Sesame Street episode in which Oscar the Grouch releases a balloon from his can. For one, they don't have lids. For two, well they're not metal.

This fixation is relatively new but has led to some awkward moments in public and around the house. Define awkward, you say.

Well, it's just a pain to have to search for the garbage can when you have something to pitch. As imaginary props, ours are migrating to isolated corners of the house and yard. I don't feel it is the best use of my time to pick up rolls of discarded plastic garbage can liners in the garage. I prefer not to deal with the quizzical stares in waiting rooms, lobbies and department stores when Reid approaches every trash receptacle in sight. He removes the contents, turns his back to it, squats slightly, then tries it on for size. Awkward? Embarrassing? Will you give me idiosyncratic?

I can deal with it. It's not exactly a safety matter yet, neither is it a life skill we want to encourage. When Jim witnesses it (usually over the weekend) he undoubtedly asks, "why is he doing that?" To which I whine, "I don't knooow." Could be that Reid's new job at school is to empty waste cans. Could be the Oscar obsession. Could be sensory. Bottom line, it's just weird and blows our cover when we're "pretending to be normal" in the words of Liane Holliday Willey.

Much like the decision to get u-verse (and pre-empt a trespassing felony) I called Jim yesterday and said, "Are you anywhere near Dixieline Lumber?" He had the day off and I'd already gone once for lightbulbs.

"I could be," he mused.

I got right to the point, "Will you pick up that aluminum can? I know they have 'em. Reid spied it the other day." I had talked him into putting it on the perpetual wishlist. "Christmas is coming....," I'd intoned.

"Are you sure it won't turn into an obsession?" Jim wondered warily.

"I'm not sure of anything but we're outside Henry's Marketplace and he's getting into theirs, so just get one," I lovingly replied.

Since Jim has been a saint lately, he obliged us both. Reid ran into the house, picked up the can in a giant bear hug maneuver and brought it into the kitchen. The balloon he'd talked about putting into it and releasing had long since bit the dust. So, what would you do? Be the balloon, as they say in sports psychology. Reid hopped right in, Oscar-the-Grouch style. Only thing is, he's 15 not 4.

I was distracted emptying grocery bags, reconnoitering with Jim and Kat, settling Allie and a friend into their after-school routine and famished from skipping lunch. Picture commotion. When a frantic plea was broadcast, "Mom! get me out of here!"

Reid was folded in half, butt first in the can. Head and feet protruding from the top.

Bear in mind, this is just par for the course around here. It was my sudden response that threw them into hysterics. With the confidence that comes from years of practice, I darted over, grabbed him under the shoulders and pulled with all my might. Any mother would do the same, right? Christopher Robin to the rescue!

Apparently, this works better with toddlers. My adrenaline was not enough even with a foot shoved into the bottom of the can for leverage. He didn't budge. Thinking quickly (and fearing escalation and panic) I tipped it over as if pouring out a 50-pound bag of Alpo. Reid's feet were on the ground then, so he more or less walked out of it as we slipped the can off him like a candle snuffer.

Wish I had a picture for you. Maybe this afternoon. Unless of course, that natural consequence has extinguished the behavior.

Find out about all the hiding places he uses and come back to me with definite information. Then I will go with you 1 Samuel 23:22-24

Then he asked them, "If one of you has a son or an ox that falls into a well on the Sabbath day, will you not immediately pull him out?" Luke 14:4-6

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. Hebrews 10:22-24

Top 10 Tuesday

Top 10 Reasons to Look for a New Doctor

(particularly in psychiatry)

10. he wears elf slippers and talks baby talk to adolescents

9. asks if your boy/girl twins are identical

8. his standard poodle "therapy dog" humps your leg

7. threatens to charge you a maintenance fee if he can't reprogram the timer on his fish tank (that your child unplugged)

6. suggests botox for your teenager's anxiety

5. wears a 3-piece suede suit in Southern California

4. tells you he learned everything he knows about drugs by using them

3. keeps you waiting 30 minutes then apologizes that he "had a suicide"

2. excuses himself for extended periods of time to a broom closet marked: "Do not Enter"

1. suggests you blog about how great he is

Let me just say that I never tell a lie (who needs to write fiction when real life is so utterly unbelievable).

A word to the wise in the world of autism intervention and treatment: There are always other fish in the sea.