Spectrum Disordered www.facebook.com/asdisordered Let’s talk about grief. To be specific, let’s talk about a specific way the term “grief” is used: as a suggested framework given to parents to process the news that their child has some type of disability. I’ve encountered this outlook throughout my life. My parents, by well-meaning professionals, were set up to view my disability as a loss: I was not normal, and would have to fight against my deficits for my whole life. They would not know what my future looked like and could not plan. They should feel Very. Sad. About. This. Having a grief mindset instilled into my parents was the single most devastating thing that has happened in my entire life. I learned very quickly that I was broken, and that there was something wrong with me. I learned very quickly—and at a very young age—that my parents would have preferred a…
Tag: attitude
Ariane Zurcher emmashopebook.com I was alerted to an article written by Dr. Michael Oberschneider entitled Ask Dr. Mike: Expecting and Anxious About Autism. In the piece he writes, “Some of the happiest parents I know (both personally and professionally) have children on the Autistic Spectrum.” In the comments section people weighed in with their thoughts. Many parents wrote of their outrage (and a few of their disbelief) that Dr. Mike suggest “happy” parents of Autistic children even exist. They seemed to equate happiness with a lack of concern. A number of parents suggested that Dr. Mike was simply wrong and refused to believe that he could actually know such parents. One person went so far as to suggest he was trying to trump up more clients, which is an interesting idea, but the logic of that argument eludes me. Before I go any further, I have to say this — there was…
This is Gayle. She is autistic. And she writes, “We love our obsessions! Making Japanese paper!” We love that Gayle loves her obsessions. Her intense joy and skill in paper making is the kind of message we want to spread this April, as we celebrate Autism Acceptance Month. We want to help make April matter, in terms of helping spread the word and further acceptance and understanding of autistic experiences, happiness, and rights for autistic people of all ages and abilities — and we’d like you to participate if you’re willing and available. Here’s what to do: Please send us a post or captioned picture that represents the message or story you’d like share for Autism Acceptance Month. It doesn’t have to be an original submission (we understand that everybody wants something from our community members during April), but you do need to own the copyright. Submissions can be emailed…
Alysia K. Butler trydefyinggravity.wordpress.com We had our first snow of the season this morning. When the kids saw it out the window they were beyond excited. I went out to warm up the car and brought in a giant snowball so they could all touch it. That started the mad dash around the house for the winter stuff. Luckily I’m disorganized enough that most of our winter coats, boots, hats and gloves were still out from last winter, so they were easy to find. However, being that disorganized also means that I have no idea what fits anymore. Howie was clamoring to go outside and play in the snow. Maybe clamoring isn’t the right word. Demanding? Insisting? Perseverating? It was 8:30 AM and I realized that Howie wasn’t yet dressed for school. We need to be out the door by 8:35 to get to school on time. I pulled him…
Jennifer Byde Myers www.jennyalice.com Lotions, potions. A special chair for eating, a special chair for learning at home. Shoe inserts, leg braces, seat cushions with no grip, a lot of grip, seat cushions with little bumps, seat cushions with little bumps and gel inside, and a backrest. Fancy forks with bendable handles, child-sized forks, spoons with holes in the bowl, bowls with grips on the bottom, bowls with the side cut out, and special chopsticks, and sippy cup after sippy cup with any number of parts and combinations to mess up. Small piano keyboards, and larger piano keyboards, and a keyboard you can walk on, just like in the movie Big. A touch screen monitor, an adapted computer, an adapted tricycle, an expensive German tricycle. Jackets that zip with a nice big tab, pants with an elastic waist that are easy to take off, overalls which are difficult to take…
Clay http://cometscorner-clay.blogspot.com I can’t say I’m surprised to learn that most autistics have a great deal of difficulty getting, and maintaining a job for more than six months. I believe it, because I know just how hard it has been for me. I saddled myself with a wife and two kids before I even got out of the Navy, and for quite a while, the subject of my wife getting a job wasn’t even discussed, because our generation wasn’t much into that. Instead, I took whatever job I could get, starting as a low paid parts clerk, until I accepted my stepfather’s offer of helping me get a job at an iron ore mine, (which paid much more). After I recovered from a huge accident, I returned and worked there for another three years. They gave me some hard and nasty jobs for awhile, such as wrestling with 55 gallon…
The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism (TPGA) started with a brainstorm in a California parking lot May 27, 2010. We published our first post 9 days later, on June 6: The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism (TPGA) is the book and website we wish had been available when our children with autism were first diagnosed. We want to help people with autism and their families make sense of the bewildering array of available autism treatments and options, and determine which are worth their time, money, and energy. Think of us as a little bit of Snopes for the autism community — trusted, accurate, and friendly. Our essays will cover informed approaches to autism and autism treatments, as well as the personal experiences of people with autism and their families. Our attitude is cautionary yet loving — we’re honest, but we’re not interested in negativity. We — the TPGA editors —…
Liane Kupferberg Carter http://www.huffingtonpost.com/liane-kupferberg-carter My husband and I had grown increasingly uneasy about our second child Mickey. Though a warm, engaging baby, he showed no interest in playing Peekaboo, How Big is the Baby, or waving bye-bye. At monthly visits the pediatrician assured us all was well. But by 18 months, Mickey had only three words, which is why fourteen years ago we finally found ourselves sitting in a cubicle at a major teaching hospital. A team of unsmiling experts spent two hours poking, prodding, and measuring our son, asking him to draw a straight line, stack cubes, put pegs in boards. I perched forward to catch the doctor’s words more fully, hoping to hear how adorable, how promising my child was. Instead, she said: “Don’t expect higher education for your son.” It felt as if we were looking down an endless, dark tunnel. Our radiant little boy had just…
Caitlin Wray www.welcome-to-normal.com I have a neighbour who can’t say “autism.” Both of us having two young kids, we had a casual chat on the lawn the other day as neighbours often do, about the usual stuff. Except of course, the “usual stuff” for parents like us will strike others as highly unusual. It’s hard to make small talk about our kids without autism finding its way into the conversation. It used to make me uncomfortable; it can be awkward to find succinct ways to weave such a complex situation into an informal chat. But I no longer let society’s discomfort with autism deter me from talking about “it,” because “it” is part of who my son is, and indeed has become part of who I am. If my neighbour gets to talk about her daughter’s ballet class, then damn it all, I get to talk about my son’s karate…
J. Lorraine Martin cheeselesspizza.blogspot.com It was a typical, suburban day at my local grocery store. Besides loading up on Mad Housewife wine, I had other highly important plans: channeling the wisdom of Pavlov on aisle 12 as I held up a bag of Skittles — think mad housewife becomes mad scientist. What can I say? An autism mom often reaches new heights (or is it lows?) to help her child step outside of his self-imposed postage stamp zone of perceived safety. In case conducting Pavlov experiments isn’t in your shopping repertoire, allow me to explain. You see, my oldest son, at the age of nine, developed some intense fears at our local grocery store. Despite uneventful years of happy grocery shopping experiences up until that time, he one day became dramatically frightened over the thunder sound in produce when the water sprayers came on; not much later the mooing cow…