tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82736424648202724652012-02-12T11:38:09.555-06:00finding humor and happiness in our family's adventure with autismKathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.comBlogger1661100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-19046265576873396322012-02-11T19:46:00.002-06:002012-02-12T11:38:09.567-06:00

It was D week in David’s Kindergarten class this week, so I wasn’t surprised when this paper came home in David’s backpack on Tuesday. D is for dog.  It makes sense, although did I mention that David doesn’t really like dogs?  We do not have a dog and the only dog that David sees on a regular basis is my sister’s dog, Winston. David and Winston have a mutual agreement to ignore each other,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-51632993426707178102012-02-10T21:22:00.000-06:002012-02-10T21:22:28.468-06:00

Earlier today, I posted a picture of a snowman, one of my favorite things from the past week.  I had made it with David during the snowstorm last Saturday.  Strike that.  I had made it while David contemplated whether or not he wanted to step into the snow, and then gave further consideration to whether or not he wanted to put his gloved hands into the snow, and then decided that snow dancing was

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-47122602845155590752012-02-10T01:05:00.001-06:002012-02-10T01:05:00.403-06:00

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-56285431084433312152012-02-08T15:28:00.000-06:002012-02-08T15:28:00.666-06:00

Life with David is a constant negotiation—a delicate balance of coercion and compromise, leaning heavily toward compromise.  We had our first significant snowfall on Saturday, and I guess I got greedy. I saw an opportunity and I wanted to seize it.  I had set out the snow gear—boots, jeans, a sweatshirt (red, but never before worn), coat, hat and gloves. The coat would be no problem. David

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-83593996949710302492012-02-07T21:21:00.000-06:002012-02-07T21:21:02.134-06:00

For over a year, I have had a handwritten note pinned to my bulletin board at work. Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. I am not one for making New Year's resolutions. Or perhaps, more accurately, I am not one for keeping New Year's resolutions so I have stopped making them, but if I had made a resolution (or four) I guess this quote would just about sum it up.

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-9011955398854552352012-02-01T08:38:00.000-06:002012-02-01T08:38:04.152-06:00

I am currently sporting a fancy new pedometer. I recently had my annual physical and, not surprisingly, the "just ignore it" approach does not seem to have done much to lower my cholesterol and/or blood pressure.  I have been given three months to continue with “lifestyle changes” before I have to talk with the doctor about cholesterol medication, which I have been trying to avoid. So, I am

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-63087910825644592822012-01-26T22:08:00.000-06:002012-01-26T22:08:19.664-06:00

Tomorrow is the one hundredth day of school. I know this fact because David told me almost as soon as he got off of the bus. It was the very first time that David has given me an unsolicited tidbit of information about school. "We having a PARTY," he said with excitement. I also know because the teacher sent a note home a few days ago. The assignment was to count out 100 items with your

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-41237456610771691982012-01-23T17:14:00.000-06:002012-01-23T17:14:45.755-06:00

Apparently, David is not the only member of our household who needs to work on articulation. It would seem that I did not articulate, ennunciate, or otherwise make myself clear over the weekend as David and I looked at the calendar and discussed the upcoming week. To David, there is a big difference between "SHOW AND TELL," the Kindergarten blue table's Monday activity, for which David has very

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-17957071051450803662012-01-22T20:36:00.000-06:002012-01-22T20:36:19.330-06:00

I am sorry to admit that, for a variety of reasons too boring to outline, I got out of the habit of reading with David over the Christmas break. This week saw our full fledged return to the regular routine, which frankly I have been anticipating as much as David. On Wednesday, Andrew had choir practice at church. David knows the drill. We ride the elevator one time, and then he has to read me

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-30749458032511743102012-01-19T17:16:00.000-06:002012-01-19T17:16:53.188-06:00

All winter, we have been working to get David to wear his hat and gloves.  All winter, David has opted instead to pull up the hood of his coat and alternately slip his hands into his pockets or up into the arms of his coat. I usually am able to break the ice, so to speak, the first time I let David play in the snow.  It is always a struggle, but I do not let him go out into the wintery

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-19656050800866109132012-01-10T22:31:00.001-06:002012-01-10T22:32:04.253-06:00

I have tried to phrase this in the most nurturing, motherly, encouraging way that I can, but the best I seem to be able to do is LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE. Here is the paper plate that I pulled from David's backpack a few days ago. In the event that it is somewhat hard to discern from this picture, here are the items that David chose to fill his plate and placed under the heading "I like to

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-9279121911461786362011-12-23T21:33:00.000-06:002011-12-23T21:33:50.432-06:00

I have finished my Christmas preparations (except for the handful of presents to be wrapped, because I would not want to be able to make such a definitive statement without a caveat) and I am feeling reflective on the eve of Christmas Eve, as I always do this time of year. Each year, there are things I would like to do differently the next year and things that I wish I could remember, like how

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-74210721606055567562011-12-16T17:53:00.000-06:002011-12-16T17:53:06.884-06:00

It was about this time last year that Andrew reached that age.  He still wanted to believe in Santa, but pure practicality was winning out.  He would ask me if I really believed in Santa and I would dance around the issue, giving him an answer worthy of the Republican debates—something along the lines of Christmas magic blah, blah, blah.  It was not until a trusted teacher asked his class when

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-14064371741525478122011-12-13T18:55:00.000-06:002011-12-13T18:55:32.695-06:00

The only Christmas present that David has requested is a pair of slippers.  Honestly, he didn’t really even request slippers.  I coaxed it out of him.  In recent weeks, he has been clomping around in my slippers, so I asked him if he wanted slippers for Christmas and, to my surprise, he responded with an enthusiastic “YETZ.”  I am not sure why he seems to have taken a fancy to my slippers,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-16703467711502473052011-12-08T19:24:00.000-06:002011-12-08T19:24:32.859-06:00

Michael had asked the age old question, "Why are there pistachios in your underwear drawer?" What the hell were you doing in my underwear drawer? Let me first say that this post has nothing to do with David, so if you came here to read about him you can stop now. Unless you consider that really everything has to do with David in some way and in this case, it probably stems from the fact that,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-56704334624658845332011-12-06T22:59:00.000-06:002011-12-06T22:59:30.654-06:00

In the past week, we have gone from unseasonably warm to bitterly cold.  This morning, they actually posted the local temperature on the bottom right-hand corner of the television screen as a decimal.  What is the purpose of that?  Does 1.9 degrees really sound appreciably warmer than 1 degree? I had postponed the struggle, the ongoing saga of David and the gloves for when it got really cold.  I

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-72407467278320486722011-12-05T14:45:00.003-06:002011-12-05T16:08:38.894-06:00

When I asked David if he wanted to see Santa, I absolutely thought the implication was that Santa would, in fact, “see” David too. Perhaps I did not phrase the question correctly which might explain why David answered in the affirmative in the first place. Consequently, I had been waiting for the right opportunity when the newsletter came from our local bank announcing that Santa would be

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-1389135389563837932011-12-01T17:47:00.000-06:002011-12-01T17:47:29.226-06:00

As David’s verbal communication skills have improved, he gets much less frustrated.  He has an easier time expressing his wants, making comments, even yesterday asking Andrew, “What’s wrong, An-roo?” He still has difficulty expressing himself verbally when he is mad, though.  Actually, he manages to get the message across, words or no words.  I can always tell that he is upset; he just does not

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-70640279670939323802011-11-29T21:25:00.000-06:002011-11-29T21:25:21.674-06:00

I have a degree from a prominent university, which in order to avoid embarrassment--to the university, not to me--will remain unnamed.  It is not considered an “ivy league” school, but ranks right up there in the top 25 with the likes of Northwestern, Johns Hopkins and Brown.  (And no, I did not purposefully leave a hole in the list of the US News top 25 universities so in the event that someone

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-24244844953752890552011-11-27T16:48:00.000-06:002011-11-27T16:48:52.193-06:00

Today, we finished decorating our Christmas tree. This year it was a multi-step process. David has been talking about putting up the Christmas tree since we had our first and to date only very brief snowfall of the season. Consequently, the little tree in his room went up several weeks ago. Michael and David assembled the big tree for our family room last weekend—before Thanksgiving, even,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-62742655967228402982011-11-25T20:38:00.000-06:002011-11-25T20:38:06.712-06:00

Sometimes living life gets in the way of writing about the life that I live. And sometimes the job for which I am paid interferes with the job that I love, but for which I receive no compensation. I haven’t been able to find the time to write for several days, so permit me just a short Thanksgiving Day memory. It has become a tradition for me to ask everyone at the dinner table on Thanksgiving

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-3835803079148362642011-11-19T16:38:00.001-06:002011-11-19T16:56:59.386-06:00

One thing most people probably don’t know about me is that I was a child model. Those of you who have never met me may actually believe that statement.  Those who do know me, especially who have been around long enough to remember the tube sock era, may presently be wondering if I finally asked my doctor to give me some of those pills to put me in a happy place. By way of explanation, it was an

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-68546906668617709272011-11-17T21:03:00.000-06:002011-11-17T21:03:40.211-06:00

It is an afternoon ritual at my house—the cleaning of David's backpack. When he comes home from school, he has no interest in talking about his day, an attitude which manifests itself in part by the shedding of the backpack sometimes half way up the driveway as he walks in from the bus. About a week ago, I spied the telltale blue envelope with the rest of the school papers—Scholastic

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-20117758032339772672011-11-16T18:58:00.003-06:002011-11-16T19:25:23.754-06:00

Yesterday was David’s seventh birthday. That was me whispering, just in case you couldn’t tell. In the days leading up to his birthday, David wanted no birthday talk.  He does not anticipate presents.  In fact, he does not ever request new toys, which I must admit is somewhat refreshing, and he really has to be coaxed to play with anything new.  He does not like to pick out a cake because,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-76297934814992340822011-11-14T21:28:00.000-06:002011-11-14T21:28:48.822-06:00

What does it say about me that, on my way to the bathroom at work earlier today, I not only noticed that both sets of elevator doors stood open, but then slowed my step just slightly to see if they would close at exactly the same time? Incidentally, they didn't, much to my relief. I would have hated for David to miss that. By the way, rhetorical question only—I don't think I really want to

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-86136938653445356542011-11-13T22:07:00.000-06:002011-11-13T22:07:21.661-06:00

Recently, a friend sent me the link to this column from The Boston Globe online.  It is a really heartwarming story, so take a few minutes right now to go read it. Okay, you are pretending that you read it, but I know that most of you did not really read it, so for YOU, the Cliffs Notes version.  A UPS driver went out of his way to make a 12 year old boy from Westborough Massachusetts very

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-2872101055549203632011-11-11T17:32:00.000-06:002011-11-11T17:32:52.612-06:00

Earlier today, David participated with his classmates in a Veteran’s Day program at a local grocery store.  According to an eye witness account, namely Granny because I was at work, he did really well.  He sat on the floor, as instructed, and waited patiently for almost 20 minutes until it was time for his class to perform. Patiently.   He waited patiently.  At a grocery store.  Under the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-89729442015589964922011-11-02T18:24:00.001-05:002011-11-02T21:19:57.138-05:00

David has been working hard to learn his ten sight words each month. While he has done well with them, I am afraid that he relies on his brain power, simply memorizing each word and does not grasp concepts like word families, beginning sounds or rhyming words.  Yesterday, we saw a tabby cat hiding under our bushes. I know that David can read the word "cat" and has for me on numerous occasions,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-47877883832772842292011-11-01T00:05:00.003-05:002011-11-01T07:32:09.952-05:00

Whatever I said yesterday—about how I finally understand that I cannot impose my traditions on David, about how I now know that I have to let go of some things without remorse—well, to put it bluntly, I lied.   Apparently, those feelings are closer to the surface that I would like to admit. Halloween is not David’s favorite holiday.  Frankly, David does not really have a favorite holiday.  Last

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-61011485507889660792011-10-30T22:19:00.000-05:002011-10-30T22:19:38.720-05:00

Andrew had a half day of school last Thursday because of report card conferences so I took him out to lunch, something I try to do several times a year.  Andrew has always enjoyed these dates, although I am no longer allowed to refer to it as a “date” in front of his friends.  He gets to choose the restaurant and we take the rare opportunity to spend some time—just the two of us. I was thinking

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-84797117156962680762011-10-24T21:46:00.000-05:002011-10-24T21:46:37.874-05:00

I have never really seen more than a few minutes of the sitcom, The Big Bang Theory, because it airs when we are usually cleaning up the kitchen, finishing up homework, or hurrying boys off for baths. I am aware that one of the main characters, Sheldon, is described as a brilliant scientist, although socially awkward, extremely literal, and lacking empathy. Hmmm. Two days after I wrote about

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-42488264087346201442011-10-20T19:01:00.000-05:002011-10-20T19:01:52.191-05:00

I am not going to win the Mom of the Year award. I know, it's shocking! Right? They always say that it was just a pleasure being nominated, but really I wanted to win. And I was feeling so good about my chances, especially when another autism Mom had complimented me after watching me coax David into the lobby for speech therapy. "You are SO patient," she told me. I need to let you in on a

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-87545933884972850102011-10-18T16:59:00.000-05:002011-10-18T16:59:13.498-05:00

This post has been brought to you by the number 73. Vaguely reminiscent of Sesame Street, right?  Well David certainly wouldn’t know because he has never watched that program—not even once.  Apparently, it is too educational and he immensely prefers more mind numbing shows such as SpongeBob Squarepants. So, what is the significance of the number 73, you might ask?  The answer is that I have no

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-57072272442503028622011-10-16T16:04:00.000-05:002011-10-16T16:04:13.377-05:00

David had been playing with a puzzle. Actually, he had been carrying around some of the pieces of a puzzle—his version of playing with it—when he sat down beside me to see what I was doing. I had just opened my laptop and was waiting for it to boot, so I watched as David carefully arranged his four puzzle pieces on a book that I had been reading. "Mom-mom's compicker," he said, his word for

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-54719252965324025712011-10-14T17:23:00.001-05:002011-10-14T18:02:49.493-05:00

I am happy to report (and thank you to all who have inquired) that it has been almost a week since David surrendered his splint.  Okay, so perhaps “surrendered” is not the correct word, as he certainly did not give it up willingly but rather to abide by the terms of the treaty that had been delicately negotiated with his mother.  (As an aside, I am beginning to believe that if a career at Target

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-5915469808998264532011-10-13T10:55:00.000-05:002011-10-13T10:55:49.660-05:00

The cold front came in from the north, almost instantaneously.  As the dark clouds rolled in, we could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance.  I tried to hurry David inside before the first drops of rain, but when I turned to call him he had closed his eyes and tipped his head to feel the wind on his face. He watched as the crisp leaves rolled down the street, tip over stem, scraping the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-68338244073000121742011-10-11T13:44:00.001-05:002011-10-11T13:44:30.191-05:00

Just when I think I have it all figured out, David turns my world upside down. Or sideways, as the case may be. He came home yesterday with this picture. I am always amazed when I recognize something that he has drawn because, as I have well documented, he does not like to color. But this picture was clear. You see it, right? The open mouth filled with sharp teeth, scaly body, legs, a

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-87588007515267244422011-10-09T13:34:00.000-05:002011-10-09T13:34:20.463-05:00

Earlier this week, David asked me a question. Actually, it was more of a statement—something said in the hope that the mere utterance would make it come true. "Naybe Sunday…we go to church!" It was not at all what I had expected him to say. Please don't get the mistaken impression that David was feeling particularly pious. There is a brand new playground that was installed a few weeks ago at

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-20095005800930938862011-10-06T21:17:00.000-05:002011-10-06T21:17:13.871-05:00

David’s red cast was removed almost six weeks ago.  It would not be an exaggeration to say that he loathed that cast, which the physician’s assistant left on the exam table just in case we wanted to take it home.  Nostalgia aside, David picked up the two pieces of the cast using only his fingertips like it was some sort of hazardous waste and then promptly threw it in the garbage. A broken arm--

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-15565263635983994252011-10-04T22:11:00.000-05:002011-10-04T22:11:50.480-05:00

Right now, David is obsessed with three things. (Incidentally, in the politically correct world, I am supposed to refer to these things as “special” or “intense interests.”)  I have already well documented David’s “intense interest” in elevators over our summer vacation, a fascination which continues to this day.  David is also currently fixated, whoops, “especially interested” in carwashes (more

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-36467377437052800622011-10-02T17:25:00.001-05:002011-10-03T12:58:02.313-05:00

It is probably not a secret that I am a fan of my local SuperTarget. I worked there one summer break while I was in college and I still a love the store, which says something. One of my responsibilities that summer, oh so many years ago, was checking job applications against the list of people who had been caught shoplifting at the store. I tried not to roll my eyes when my supervisor gave me

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-70006771292699010172011-09-29T15:25:00.000-05:002011-09-29T15:25:07.437-05:00

At this point, I cannot even remember what he had done, but I was angry and David knew it. But please tell me, how am I supposed to stay irritated at a little boy--no matter what the transgression--when he looks into my eyes, touches my chin and says in his sweetest voice, "Mom-mom, smile happy?" Well, he received the desired smile. I couldn't help it. And the term, "smile happy" has become a

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-46725714400739577352011-09-27T10:50:00.001-05:002011-09-27T15:00:52.630-05:00

Apparently, David did not have his fix of elevators on our trip because since we have returned it has been all things elevator. The shower doors are an elevator, the miniscule guest bathroom, an elevator (with a tested capacity of three but don't tell the fire marshall), the pocket door leading to the basement—you guessed it—an elevator. So I was taking David to speech therapy and, as usual, we

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-27663073949289700102011-09-25T16:21:00.000-05:002011-09-25T16:21:04.165-05:00

I have already alluded to the fact that David spent a great deal of time watching elevators while we were on vacation. Suffice it to say, it was the highlight of his trip. I never imagined, however, that it would also be my favorite memory. It seems like David spent countless hours in the hallway of our hotel, either in the lobby area directly outside of our room, or down by the first floor

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-48345501903766093722011-09-22T16:54:00.000-05:002011-09-22T16:54:39.174-05:00

Several months ago, someone referred to me as a writer.  Of all of the numerous and varied labels I may have attached to myself through the years (some complimentary and many others not), I have never felt very comfortable referring to myself as a writer. Okay, I know I attended a workshop in June at the Iowa Summer Writers’ Festival.  Sure, I do a fair amount of writing, but in my mind the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-18299352835406204242011-09-20T17:52:00.000-05:002011-09-20T17:52:33.264-05:00

No account of our summer break would be complete without mention of our trip.  In the planning stages, I felt somewhat apologetic for taking a less ambitious trip than last year’s trek to Chicago.  I quickly realized, however, that the trip may have been less impressive in terms of distance travelled, but in my mind it was a more challenging destination. In our family, it is difficult to find

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-81242106148658273352011-09-16T15:00:00.000-05:002011-09-16T15:00:01.878-05:00

We interrupt this regularly scheduled recap of our summer break to bring you this important announcement. David came home from school yesterday with this beautifully hand crafted invitation to last night's Open House. As you can see, there are four images and, coincidentally, there are four people in our family. Because David will rarely draw anything for me, it has taken me a long time to

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-8772611569563154872011-09-15T14:04:00.002-05:002011-09-20T17:44:37.404-05:00

Do you remember as a child having to write the obligatory essay each fall outlining how you spent your summer vacation?  No?  Really?  Well in all honesty, neither do I.  But, over the next few days I will make an attempt, the highlights (or lowlights, depending upon your perspective), the Cliff Notes version of how we spent the last three months, autism style. Most kids count the days until

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-1486681066912888292011-06-30T13:16:00.000-05:002011-06-30T13:16:05.643-05:00

In the movie, Pretty Woman, the Julia Roberts character, Vivian describes herself by saying, "I'm actually, no I'm not a planner. I would say I'm a kinda fly by the seat of your pants gal, you know moment to moment." I have never been a very spontaneous person, a "fly by the seat of your pants gal," but spontaneity becomes an even greater challenge with autism introduced into the mix. As you

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-28343586895054964852011-06-14T13:44:00.000-05:002011-06-14T13:44:00.062-05:00

Last week, I posted this unusual picture of David. It was, of course, strange because David is not wearing a red shirt. This shirt does not have a red stripe, red lettering, or even a red tag in the collar. (And no, for those of you who inquired, he was not wearing red shorts, either. I did crop the picture, but not to conceal red pants. I was trying to hide the fact that David has recently

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-54719714735811037942011-06-09T21:01:00.000-05:002011-06-09T21:01:44.855-05:00

Andrew was seven years old when David was diagnosed. It was a difficult time for all of us, but I originally underestimated the effect that the diagnosis would have on Andrew. I did not think that he was really old enough to understand what was happening, until several weeks later when he asked if David had the type of "handicap" (a word that I don't recall having used) that would allow us to

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-2746230104981568882011-06-08T17:19:00.000-05:002011-06-08T17:19:30.370-05:00

There is something unusual about this picture of David, taken this morning. Any guesses?

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-59417874060868375552011-06-07T17:29:00.001-05:002011-06-07T20:12:18.585-05:00

Yesterday, my grandmother turned 95 years old. I sent her a card, but the big celebration was held over Memorial Day weekend. About 25 relatives gathered at my sister's house for a dinner in her honor. Michael and I had talked about whether or not we should include David in the celebration, particularly because he has been having an extremely difficult time since the last day of school, which he

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-28590643889737109552011-05-23T17:59:00.000-05:002011-05-23T17:59:39.950-05:00

Sometimes I struggle with how much to tell people about David. On some occasions, telling people that David has autism is like saying that he has big, beautiful, blue eyes. It is just a part of who he is and it slides off my tongue easily. Other times, it seems to take too much energy. Should I let the checker at Famous Footwear think he is misbehaving or explain that he is just having

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-49310859475639352782011-05-20T18:03:00.000-05:002011-05-20T18:03:55.357-05:00

I found myself lurking around the windows. Is it really lurking, though, if you are on the inside, looking out? Of your own house? I was waiting for the UPS truck. It was late in the afternoon and we had not yet received our delivery. The UPS man usually arrives to our house around five o'clock and I was growing impatient. After all, I had paid for expedited shipping, a rarity. What could be so

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-45283262009835166462011-05-19T14:02:00.000-05:002011-05-19T14:02:17.441-05:00

Several people have asked recently about David's bus riding habits. Or perhaps more accurately, about exactly how David is getting himself down the driveway and to the bus. It is no secret that David started the year by walking backward to the bus--not a secret because if I had really wanted to keep that little quirk private, then perhaps I shouldn't have written about it HERE and HERE. He has

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-56440447520173703492011-05-12T14:48:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:36:43.033-05:00

The school year is coming to a close. In fact, my older son could probably tell you to the hour how much time is left. As usual, I have been reflecting on what we have learned this year and I say "we" because it seems that I learn as much as the boys do, especially when David is part of the equation. When I left yesterday to pick David up from school, it looked like it might rain so I grabbed my

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-50674029473576375962011-05-08T21:10:00.001-05:002011-05-08T21:28:15.126-05:00

I suspect that I may be the first person ever to have cried during the kindergarten production of Peter Rabbit. I guess I really didn't cry during the play, I managed to control myself until the medley of kindergarten favorites that immediately followed the performance. I think it would be fair to say that I am someone whose emotions are close to the surface. In short, I am a weeper. I have even

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-60318850890790358412011-05-03T13:30:00.000-05:002011-05-03T13:30:37.923-05:00

David has been studying money in school and he recently received some money as a gift. In the past, I have taken David's money and used it to purchase something that I thought he would want, or probably more often, something that he needed. I sometimes have to remind myself that he is six and like any other six-year-old, he would probably enjoy the opportunity to select something for himself.

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-90533194259301203742011-04-28T21:04:00.002-05:002011-04-30T07:32:02.768-05:00

I present for your consideration exhibit A, a picture of a plastic hamburger bun. And now, exhibit B. Once again, a plastic hamburger bun.  The same bun, right? Right? WRONG. They are not the same hamburger buns. David has selected a single bun from our expansive plastic bun collection and made it clear that they are most certainly not interchangeable. What difference could it possibly

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-68655787309030943622011-04-21T19:32:00.002-05:002011-04-21T21:18:35.089-05:00

The lovely bbsmum at mum accepting autism tagged me in a meme ages ago, before my self-imposed exile. The assignment: Ask your child to draw a picture of you and post the picture. Link to the "This is Me" linky. Tag some others. Sounds simple, right? Just have David draw a picture of me—except David seems to believe that he is allergic to any type of writing implement. He usually does make an

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-88826976879842025772011-04-19T17:51:00.002-05:002011-04-19T18:02:16.910-05:00

I am back at long last after my amazing adventure walking across the county to raise autism awareness because—just in case you do not own a TV, or read a newspaper or newsmagazine, or perhaps you live in a cave--April is autism awareness month. Truth be told, I wish I had been doing something so selfless and, well cardiovascular, but in reality I have been a slug, lounging on a beach chair,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-86236684511837017002011-03-29T23:17:00.001-05:002011-03-30T06:26:53.197-05:00

My sister appeared at my house with a red dress--a beautifully made, sleeveless (oh no, strike one) red (strike two) dress with a ruffle at the collar. She had found it on the sale rack of an upscale department store and thought of me, so she bought it so that I could try it on, fortunately in the privacy of my own home. Wait a minute, she saw a red dress and she thought of me? Me? I thought my

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-3250876580232581102011-03-28T20:52:00.001-05:002011-03-29T07:43:15.022-05:00

David has recently taken to wearing a lanyard around his neck. When Andrew noticed he was using the metal nametag clip as a makeshift whistle, of course we had to find a whistle for him to attach. In the interest of full disclosure, let me first say that this particular lanyard was "borrowed" from our church after the service a few weeks ago. David had removed and discarded the nametag, but

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-66955765328166821202011-03-27T21:59:00.001-05:002011-03-28T06:24:45.966-05:00

David's language has come a long way, but I still look forward to the day when he is able explain things to me. I do not understand why he seems to be annoyed at my niece, Katie, his first and only babysitter, a second mother (or maybe third or fourth behind Granny and Annie) who has been away at college. You would think he would be glad to see her, but instead it is as if he is upset at being

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-28326335939061708862011-03-25T21:35:00.000-05:002011-03-25T21:35:17.957-05:00

There was a time in my life when the word "spontaneous" evoked images of weekend adventures, last minute dinner plans, spur of the moment get-togethers with friends. Now, when I think "spontaneous" I almost always think of it in terms of communication as in unprompted, unscripted, spontaneous utterances from David. David and I both had the stomach flu this past week. It has been a long week

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-22598972398872478742011-03-17T17:43:00.000-05:002011-03-17T17:43:04.404-05:00

Today I have reached a milestone, one hundred posts. I have written one hundred posts in slightly more than one year. I really didn't expect to reach this milestone when I started this adventure last February. In fact, for the first several weeks of my blog's existence, I had it password protected and gave the password to a very small number of people—namely, me. Yes, I put posts out in

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-48511755609596912242011-03-15T16:38:00.000-05:002011-03-15T16:38:14.004-05:00

David almost always has an item or items that capture his attention for several days. These objects usually accompany us on errands, rest on the bathroom counter while bathing, and join David in bed at night. Yes, he has slept with, to name just a few, a coffee filter basket, cowboy boots, all 25 felt ornaments from his favorite Christmas tree, a guitar and even a garden cart. Please allow me

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-72934571521693316762011-03-10T20:44:00.000-06:002011-03-10T20:44:06.526-06:00

The first terms I learned in the evaluation process with David were receptive and expressive language. At the time that I learned these terms, I also learned how very far behind David was in both types of language. He was described as being years behind his peers and when your child is three years old, "years behind" means a significant delay. David did not have school today, but had to ride

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-57795136963652476552011-03-08T11:46:00.000-06:002011-03-08T11:46:52.799-06:00

When Andrew was about David's age, we stopped by the local TCBY for a cool treat on an especially warm evening. We pulled up to the window, gave our order and were waiting for the cones to appear when Andrew announced from the back seat, "She's HOT." After the realization that Andrew was taking about the fit, sun-kissed, teenager with blond hair pulled back into a pony tail who had taken our

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-88706868860487525952011-03-06T21:55:00.001-06:002011-03-07T07:40:08.099-06:00

I have long been a fan of the month of March. Maybe it stems from a fascination with the grade-school description that it "comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb." March brings the promise of spring and if not daffodils peeking up through ground, certainly at least the grocery store variety popping up on the shelves in the produce section of a supermarket near you. Plus, a March snow will

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-32254278444523664482011-03-04T17:35:00.000-06:002011-03-04T17:35:25.467-06:00

I have said before that I appreciate every word that David utters because for quite a time I was not sure I would ever hear his voice. I am certainly not going to backpedal from that remark; it is still and will always be true. I must admit, however, that there are certain combinations of words that I do find troubling. I take great delight in hearing David string words together to make longer

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-22405677712542003962011-03-03T13:27:00.000-06:002011-03-03T13:27:00.947-06:00

Heather over at The A-Word tagged me in a meme. I know it sounds painful, but having just googled the expression—again—I find that I am still not at all certain what it means. My Dad always used to tell me that it was great that my high school friends would ask me for help with their math homework because, he would say, your ability to explain something to someone else is a good test of whether

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-87135193917775096842011-02-24T22:31:00.000-06:002011-02-24T22:31:20.039-06:00

Like any child, David has a way of pushing my buttons. If he is angry or upset and decides he wants to share that particular emotion with me, he knows exactly what to do to get a rise out of me. Lately, he has been working his magic, for the most part unintentionally. You see, he has been pushing my buttons by, well, pushing buttons. David is fascinated by buttons of all shapes and sizes,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-44877304257945124092011-02-22T19:45:00.001-06:002011-02-22T19:45:00.355-06:00

David and Andrew did not have school today. A teacher workday, combined with the Presidents' Day holiday made for a long weekend—a really long weekend. I did take the opportunity to try to work with David, so I pulled out some of the school supplies that he has not seen for a while including a small cookie sheet and magnetic letters. I thought we would work on sight words. David was not really

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-53359353591113166252011-02-21T23:13:00.000-06:002011-02-21T23:13:47.588-06:00

Michael and I have not had much of an opportunity to go out together since our babysitter left for college last September. So, when a local organization offered an evening program for kids with disabilities and their siblings, we jumped at the opportunity. David was really excited about his "popcorn party" with Andrew. We had talked about it all day and, since he has just recently acquired the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-40830997170424555892011-02-19T22:09:00.000-06:002011-02-19T22:09:56.456-06:00

Image via WikipediaDavid doesn't really like to watch TV because he doesn't like to see a show for the first time. Sometimes you have to sit down and watch a movie with him the first few times before he feels comfortable watching it by himself. From David's perspective, how much fun can it be to watch something on television without having the dialog memorized, or knowing what is going to happen?

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-27148749962253286362011-02-17T19:30:00.001-06:002011-02-17T19:30:00.515-06:00

I am a P-R-O-C-R-A-S-T-I-N-A-T-O-R. There, I said it. I have been told that the first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem. Among the other things that have been on the "to-do list" for a while, I had been putting off getting David's name added to a waiting list. I finally started the process just before Christmas—great timing, huh? I made the initial phone call, completed the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-41983846748029136132011-02-16T19:54:00.000-06:002011-02-16T19:54:37.866-06:00

This morning I was standing at the kitchen counter packing David's lunch before he left for school. One of his lunch staples is dry cereal, usually Quaker Oatmeal Squares, and I had poured them into a large bowl so that I could sort his cereal into a baggie. I take the extra step of sorting because cereal is expensive I have grown tired of wasting it. Evidently, when cereal has a name like "

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-34155974230070152752011-02-15T16:14:00.000-06:002011-02-15T16:14:48.725-06:00

After the most recent session at school of Human Growth and Development—5th grade boy edition--there has been a lot of puberty talk at our house. I think that the session is over for the year, but I plan to be on vacation next year so Michael can field all the questions, plus drive Andrew and any friends home from their after school activities. I really tried not to listen as they discussed the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-76229241532856177412011-02-14T04:00:00.001-06:002011-02-14T04:00:04.809-06:00

Flashback to 6th grade, Valentine's Day – It was the first time in my elementary school experience that we were not given a class list. There would be no compulsory distribution of valentines to every single member of the class—except, of course, for those kids whose religion made them morally opposed to commercial holidays popularized by florists and greeting card companies; they would be

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-21501203991144830012011-02-12T23:07:00.001-06:002011-02-12T23:38:01.935-06:00

Shortly after David was diagnosed my niece Katie, barely fifteen at the time, gave me one of the most thoughtful gifts that I have ever received. She was upgrading her iPod and, since I was probably the only person on earth who did not yet own one, she decided to give her old iPod to me. Now, this gift would have been wonderful by itself, but knowing that I did not have either the time or the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-47049781310220272352011-02-10T12:30:00.000-06:002011-02-10T12:30:16.022-06:00

Well, the extremely reticent interview subject, and just to be clear I mean the little one wearing red not his chunky counterpart, seems to be enjoying his new found small screen celebrity. He has watched the interview several times, and had to put the video tape (I know, but we don't have a DVR) in a special place before he left for school. We had talked about how some of the people at school

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-26435404556795156832011-02-09T20:04:00.000-06:002011-02-09T20:04:45.784-06:00

Someone asked me recently what I thought I would be doing as a forty-something. Interesting question and, to be honest, the answer is probably that I didn't have any idea. Well, that's not quite the truth. I did hope that I would be married and have children, but beyond that I must admit that I really hadn't developed a roadmap. I attended a university that has an excellent medical school. The

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-36542601366288118902011-02-09T06:00:00.004-06:002011-02-09T06:00:15.758-06:00

I sometimes wonder why we buy toys for David when he can find such amusement in ordinary items. A trip to Costco can yield a jackpot. Here is a picture that David took of one of his favorites. The possibilities, of course, are endless and can stretch vertically or horizontally.

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-66978586606314769232011-02-08T14:23:00.000-06:002011-02-08T14:23:17.980-06:00

David is a clock watcher. Several times each hour, he will peer around the corner into the kitchen, scanning the clocks to see what time it is. Often he will prompt one of us to ask, "What time is it, David?" We have an obscene number of clocks in the kitchen by the time you include the clock on the intercom, microwave, stove, CD player and then, of course, the clock that hangs above the sink

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-29202828245102508342011-02-06T21:38:00.000-06:002011-02-06T21:38:19.855-06:00

One of the essential elements of ABA therapy, used in the treatment of autism, revolves around the "reinforcement" of desired behavior. It can be a challenge to find something that motives these kids, so food is often used as a reinforcer—even candy, cookies or chips broken into small pieces. David is not really motivated by food, however. It may seem contrary to any preconceived notion of an

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-37886062510429701622011-02-04T20:29:00.000-06:002011-02-04T20:29:39.842-06:00

Each day, I push David past his comfort zone. I would guess that almost everything he is asked to do in therapy, plus many of the tasks at school and at home make him uncomfortable. That is the point—to make him more tolerant of new situations and to be more adaptable. He works very hard to articulate his wants and needs, to greet and interact with people and to learn behaviors that we consider "

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-27201728235697778262011-02-02T11:00:00.005-06:002011-02-02T11:00:05.696-06:00

I always buy inexpensive coats and jackets because they do not have snap off handles—I mean hoods. Here Grandpa, known as Bitsie to David, has mastered the technique.

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-41302851758778983032011-02-01T14:05:00.002-06:002011-02-01T22:12:00.404-06:00

On Sunday, Andrew and I went to see a performance of the St. Olaf Choir. My niece is a freshman at St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota and coincidentally happened to be home on break when the choir was scheduled to pass through town. My whole family went together except for David who stayed home. As I sat listening, I wondered if we would ever be able to take David to this type of event,

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-32577816502149163292011-01-31T08:32:00.001-06:002011-01-31T08:44:37.446-06:00

When we bought our house, one of the features listed was a built-in intercom system. An intercom is one of those things that, in theory, sounds wonderful but in actuality ranks right up there with a central vac system on the list of "features" that are never used. I cannot recall a single occasion when the doorbell has rung and, instead of walking to the door to answer it, I have walked the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-68434587658996339442011-01-28T20:09:00.000-06:002011-01-28T20:09:29.704-06:00

One of the concerns, when you have a child with autism, revolves around emotions, both the appropriate expression of emotions the ability to recognize or empathize with emotions in other people, called theory of mind. David seems to be able to understand my emotions pretty well, although I have noticed that he often moves my hand away from my mouth when he looks at my face, particularly when we

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-85500170741688383172011-01-27T19:03:00.001-06:002011-01-27T19:03:01.031-06:00

David turned six years old in November and is completing a year of Kindergarten in a special education classroom. Next year, he will repeat Kindergarten in a general education classroom. Today is the Kindergarten roundup at his school, and I did not attend. Instead, I am sitting at Panera having just finished chatting with my sister. I did not receive information in the mail about the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-45431059118882062282011-01-26T21:23:00.002-06:002011-01-26T21:34:01.696-06:00

I often wish I could see the world through David's eyes and I guess this is the closest that I will ever come.  Sometimes I have difficulty deciphering the shots when David has gotten ahold of my camera.  Any guesses?   Looking down through a naked ironing board.

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-12650495680347177272011-01-25T21:53:00.000-06:002011-01-25T21:53:52.451-06:00

Michael started a new job last week and his very first day on the job was a rocky one. He really didn't feel well and struggled through the day. When he arrived home, we talked briefly about his day and I could tell that he was trying to be a trooper, but I finally sent him upstairs to take a shower and go to bed. (Now I ask you, when was the last time that I didn't feel well and was the first

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-92054567409178801302011-01-24T21:40:00.002-06:002011-01-24T21:42:55.491-06:00

It seems like I was not very organized this past Christmas season and, in the end, I had to cram all of the last minute preparations into day-long marathon sessions--a day for baking, a day for addressing Christmas cards and a day for wrapping presents. David participated in much more of the process this year and really seemed to enjoy every part of it, which made it all worthwhile. After

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-19802434072046757632011-01-23T23:38:00.000-06:002011-01-23T23:38:56.280-06:00

I sat at work all day on Friday, anxious to go home. I guess I am always anxious to go home from work, but this time I had a special reason. My brand new, shiny brass "privacy latch" had been installed on the pocket door that leads to the basement and I couldn't wait to get home and show it to David. I wasn't trying to be cruel. I was not planning to remind David of all of the marvelous things

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-84923452984999281922011-01-23T17:33:00.000-06:002011-01-23T17:33:40.052-06:00

Dani G at I'm Just That Way and That's Just Me and Heather at Living, Learning, Laughing & Loving with Autism have bestowed upon me the Memetastic Award complete with this very classy graphic created by Jill over at Yeah. Good Times. As it is my very first award ever--in the blogosphere, at least—I did receive that award at the Senior banquet in high school, "Most Likely to Write a Blog that Six

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-6904844554331855052011-01-19T21:06:00.000-06:002011-01-19T21:06:09.654-06:00

Most parents will tell you that dealing with kids is a constant negotiation. As a famous child expert (whose name I cannot, for the moment, recall) once said, "You have to pick your battles." I do try to keep that piece of advice in mind when dealing with David, especially. Does it really matter if we have to load nine rolls of Bounty paper towels into the back of the car before leaving the

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8273642464820272465.post-16437362021944792602011-01-17T21:03:00.000-06:002011-01-17T21:03:27.865-06:00

When I meet people, I am always uncertain how much of our story they need to know. Sometimes I tell people that David has autism and sometimes I do not, depending upon the situation. I guess sometimes I do not need to worry about making that decision because they figure it out on their own, anyway. David has been taking great delight in turning Andrew's video game off in the middle of the game.

Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00109875815749585734noreply@blogger.com4