We have this delightful little frozen yogurt place, Frugos, in Yucaipa. It has been a family favorite for a few months now. Even Wylie likes it!
Well, he likes one particular flavor: Vanilla Custard.
Now, this is the type of place where you walk up and "serve" yourself. They rotate the flavors often and there's about 8 flavors in all. They have dry-erase signs above each station so that you know what you are dispensing.
So, last night, as a "back to school" treat, we went to Frugos at Wylie's request. What happened at the check-out transpired in about 20 seconds, but you know how time slows down in a crisis. I'm paying for our yogurts and I overhear a conversation beside me that goes something like...
"Dude, you said you had pina colada"
"Yeah, it's in the middle where it usually is"
"Dude, the sign says Vanilla"
(and this is the station from which Wylie innocently dispensed his yogurt).
Dude goes in the back and I'm beginning to process what has happened. Just as Wylie sticks his spoon in his mouth I dip my finger in his cup and quickly give it a lick: pina colada.
Now, if you have normal taste-buds that might throw you a bit, right? But, let's pretend you have super-normal taste-buds...and that tastes and smells are extremely significant to you (reference What's in a Nugget from July posts). I look at Wylie just as he is gagging and trying not to throw-up right there in the middle of Frugos.
He immediately dumps the whole $4 cup in the trash and with red-rimmed eyes says
"What's up with the vanilla?"
as I see Dude writing the correct label on the station sign.
Tragedy. Of epic proportions.
Maybe, just maybe, Frugo's can recover from this mistake.
Until then, no "vanilla" will pass Wylie's lips until it's been on mine first...
Showing posts with label Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sensory Integration Dysfunction. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Making Sense
I don’t know at what point we stopped cracking the video or digital camera out to record our kids’ events, holidays, and parties. It was a long time ago. I think we got to the point where we were so stressed about capturing the moments on film we were not enjoying the actual moments! So, the camera sits in the closet. We have a few “videos” (or are they “digitals”?) of the kids before we moved away from Charleston, SC. These are precious: two little toddlers in our gorgeous, lush backyard, McKenna drawing her first (of many famous) pictures on her Magna Doodle, my grandfather when he visited.
I remember watching some random footage of the kids outside on a spring day. We had reviewed these images before for the “ah” effect. You know, “Ah, they are all so cute”. On this occasion I felt I uncovered a mystery. I asked Tim to rewind a certain spot: Wylie’s Asperger-behaviors were all over these spring images. Like a forensic scientist traces clues backwards from a crime scene or an event, I examined these old scenes with new eyes and saw a world of evidence supporting Wylie’s Asperger-ness.
For your consideration, ladies and gentlemen, I present Exhibit A: we were all outdoors and the kids are running and rambling back and forth in front of the camera. Wylie moves rhythmically (even as a two year old) in a pattern that is sometimes still evident. He scadoos, smokes his fingers, hums, and remains detached even when the other two children are involved in daddy’s videography. More poignant is the footage of their 2 year birthday party.
May I present, Exhibit B: there were six to eight adults and as many children—all familiar. Yet, during this selection, Tim is carrying Wylie on his shoulders for a portion of it and you can tell he (Wylie) is completely out of sorts. He puts his head down behind Tim’s avoids eye contact, cries and whimpers. Tim tries to have him taste some ice cream and he strongly resists the spoon and its chilly substance. You even hear me in the background explaining away his behavior to the other parents. What was obvious now to me (as the forensic-mommy-scientist), is that Wylie’s sensory perception was maxed. In the pictures, he is using every coping mechanism he has and it’s not working. Too many people, too many noises, too many voices. He crumbles and I end up taking him upstairs to put him to bed with one of his beloved blankets while Campbell enjoys the rest of the party.
Watching these scenes is difficult; the clues were everywhere. We just did not see them. Now, they made sense for the first time. And, the sense they made saddened me. My son was not experiencing “normal” events in a normal way. His brain did not allow him to do so. There we all were almost forcing him to enjoy things he found terrifying--or at least incredibly uncomfortable. It would not be the last time my eyes would fill with tears at the thought of how much he went through before we began to understand him. Reviewing the evidence made me sad; but, it also ushered in a new compassion for him and for all kinds of different people. I began to see evidence all the time and became quite accustomed to viewing the world through an Asperger lens. And, just like Alice in Wonderland, I found looking through the glass irresistible.
Making Sense
I don’t know at what point we stopped cracking the video or digital camera out to record our kids’ events, holidays, and parties. It was a long time ago. I think we got to the point where we were so stressed about capturing the moments on film we were not enjoying the actual moments! So, the camera sits in the closet. We have a few “videos” (or are they “digitals”?) of the kids before we moved away from Charleston, SC. These are precious: two little toddlers in our gorgeous, lush backyard, McKenna drawing her first (of many famous) pictures on her Magna Doodle, my grandfather when he visited.
I remember watching some random footage of the kids outside on a spring day. We had reviewed these images before for the “ah” effect. You know, “Ah, they are all so cute”. On this occasion I felt I uncovered a mystery. I asked Tim to rewind a certain spot: Wylie’s Asperger-behaviors were all over these spring images. Like a forensic scientist traces clues backwards from a crime scene or an event, I examined these old scenes with new eyes and saw a world of evidence supporting Wylie’s Asperger-ness.
For your consideration, ladies and gentlemen, I present Exhibit A: we were all outdoors and the kids are running and rambling back and forth in front of the camera. Wylie moves rhythmically (even as a two year old) in a pattern that is sometimes still evident. He scadoos, smokes his fingers, hums, and remains detached even when the other two children are involved in daddy’s videography. More poignant is the footage of their 2 year birthday party.
May I present, Exhibit B: there were six to eight adults and as many children—all familiar. Yet, during this selection, Tim is carrying Wylie on his shoulders for a portion of it and you can tell he (Wylie) is completely out of sorts. He puts his head down behind Tim’s avoids eye contact, cries and whimpers. Tim tries to have him taste some ice cream and he strongly resists the spoon and its chilly substance. You even hear me in the background explaining away his behavior to the other parents. What was obvious now to me (as the forensic-mommy-scientist), is that Wylie’s sensory perception was maxed. In the pictures, he is using every coping mechanism he has and it’s not working. Too many people, too many noises, too many voices. He crumbles and I end up taking him upstairs to put him to bed with one of his beloved blankets while Campbell enjoys the rest of the party.
Watching these scenes is difficult; the clues were everywhere. We just did not see them. Now, they made sense for the first time. And, the sense they made saddened me. My son was not experiencing “normal” events in a normal way. His brain did not allow him to do so. There we all were almost forcing him to enjoy things he found terrifying--or at least incredibly uncomfortable. It would not be the last time my eyes would fill with tears at the thought of how much he went through before we began to understand him. Reviewing the evidence made me sad; but, it also ushered in a new compassion for him and for all kinds of different people. I began to see evidence all the time and became quite accustomed to viewing the world through an Asperger lens. And, just like Alice in Wonderland, I found looking through the glass irresistible.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Miss Bonnie & The Runaway Bunny
Autism.
Say the word and what do you picture? Dustin Hoffman in “Rainman”? A child unable to speak, moving back and forth, isolated in their own world? You’re not alone. There is more awareness now versus decades past of what autism is and whom it affects, but it is still seems to mystify. I have learned that autism is like a spectrum; it manifests in different ways like light refracted revealing colors of the rainbow. On the “higher functioning” end of the spectrum is Asperger Syndrome, named for a German psychologist, Hans Asperger. This was the particular color that bathed our family the spring of 2003.
I barely had time to finish the details in the play room upstairs before the first home visit of the child psychologist assigned to observe Wylie. We had been in the house about a year and a half; yet, household projects take time and money. Both had run a bit short. The impending visit provided just the sense of urgency required to paint the walls and complete the playroom. I had spoken with Bonnie Karlin on the phone prior to the visit and immediately warmed to her. She had a calm and soothing voice—a nice quality in someone specializing in children. And, she came highly recommended. My mother had been working as an administrative assistant in Student Services for several years. She was familiar with most of the staff in the suite of offices they all
shared. Bonnie was among those. This put me at ease and I remember feeling relaxed the day she came to “play” with Wylie.
Bonnie joined us on the floor; Wylie stayed in my lap at first and avoided direct eye contact, of course, smoking away…but, after a few moments he began to venture out of my lap and engaged with Bonnie. She asked him to tell her a story. She watched while I put a hand puppet on and interacted with him. I let him sound out some words and familiar objects in one of his books. All the while, Bonnie took notes on her paper without looking. (Try it—it’s not easy!) She asked me about Wylie’s normal behavior at home—his eating habits, play times and how he interacted with his siblings. I shared openly about his distaste for certain things (like haircuts!) and how regular noises—the garage door opener, the vaccum, a flushing toilet—would terrify Wylie and he had learned to preemptively cover his ears (which is hard to do while smoking your fingers!)
Eventually, Bonnie had Wylie in her lap listening to a story. He shared blanket blue with her and even extended his arm for her to rub—this was a favorite past time of Wylie’s only a few people were trusted to do it.
The plan was to observe Wylie at home and then in his preschool environment; I was to complete a very detailed questionnaire and we would meet again and put all these disparate pieces together. Before Bonnie left that day, she mentioned that Wylie reminded her a bit of her own daughter. In particular, she shared about her daughter’s favorite book, “The Runaway Bunny”, and that somehow Wylie was a bit like the bunny in the story. I could tell after our visit, Bonnie was exactly the right person to try and figure Wylie out. What a blessing she was. Of all the psychologists that could have been sent, we were sent one who knew precisely the color of the rainbow radiating from the playroom. And, she’d have known it even if I hadn’t gotten the walls done.
The preschool visit was a horse of a different color. Bonnie called us afterward and asked if she could make a second “in home” visit. She just had too much to reconcile. To her, Wylie appeared a completely different child at the preschool. It was there that she first experienced the folded-up-like-a-rock Wylie, the non-cooperative when asked to switch activities Wylie, the extremely detached from the reality of the class room Wylie. This disturbed her. Why was he so different? There were moments she noted where the Runaway Bunny emerged: during sing-a-long time when Wylie was allowed and encouraged to move to the music, and when he was on the playground. But, overall, the pieces from the preschool seemed to belong to a completely different puzzle then the pieces she had gathered in our own home.
After the second home visit and the scoring of my questionnaire, Bonnie came to a conclusion. Wylie demonstrated signs of Sensory Integration Dysfunction and tested as borderline “at risk” for Asperger Syndrome. (The subtle nuances of the diagnosis are important and for those interested, a lengthy note is appended). Bonnie recommended a special day class for Wylie and a referral to an Occupational Therapist for further evaluation of his motor skills. We spoke at length on several more occasions about our next step. Bonnie was certain Wylie would best learn in an alternative environment with smaller class size and intensive language therapy. In addition, she encouraged us to use stories called Power Cards to help Wylie overcome his fear of haircuts, the dentist, etc.
It was a lot to process. For the first time in a very, very long time, I wanted to drop like a rock.
Say the word and what do you picture? Dustin Hoffman in “Rainman”? A child unable to speak, moving back and forth, isolated in their own world? You’re not alone. There is more awareness now versus decades past of what autism is and whom it affects, but it is still seems to mystify. I have learned that autism is like a spectrum; it manifests in different ways like light refracted revealing colors of the rainbow. On the “higher functioning” end of the spectrum is Asperger Syndrome, named for a German psychologist, Hans Asperger. This was the particular color that bathed our family the spring of 2003.
I barely had time to finish the details in the play room upstairs before the first home visit of the child psychologist assigned to observe Wylie. We had been in the house about a year and a half; yet, household projects take time and money. Both had run a bit short. The impending visit provided just the sense of urgency required to paint the walls and complete the playroom. I had spoken with Bonnie Karlin on the phone prior to the visit and immediately warmed to her. She had a calm and soothing voice—a nice quality in someone specializing in children. And, she came highly recommended. My mother had been working as an administrative assistant in Student Services for several years. She was familiar with most of the staff in the suite of offices they all
shared. Bonnie was among those. This put me at ease and I remember feeling relaxed the day she came to “play” with Wylie.
Bonnie joined us on the floor; Wylie stayed in my lap at first and avoided direct eye contact, of course, smoking away…but, after a few moments he began to venture out of my lap and engaged with Bonnie. She asked him to tell her a story. She watched while I put a hand puppet on and interacted with him. I let him sound out some words and familiar objects in one of his books. All the while, Bonnie took notes on her paper without looking. (Try it—it’s not easy!) She asked me about Wylie’s normal behavior at home—his eating habits, play times and how he interacted with his siblings. I shared openly about his distaste for certain things (like haircuts!) and how regular noises—the garage door opener, the vaccum, a flushing toilet—would terrify Wylie and he had learned to preemptively cover his ears (which is hard to do while smoking your fingers!)
Eventually, Bonnie had Wylie in her lap listening to a story. He shared blanket blue with her and even extended his arm for her to rub—this was a favorite past time of Wylie’s only a few people were trusted to do it.
The plan was to observe Wylie at home and then in his preschool environment; I was to complete a very detailed questionnaire and we would meet again and put all these disparate pieces together. Before Bonnie left that day, she mentioned that Wylie reminded her a bit of her own daughter. In particular, she shared about her daughter’s favorite book, “The Runaway Bunny”, and that somehow Wylie was a bit like the bunny in the story. I could tell after our visit, Bonnie was exactly the right person to try and figure Wylie out. What a blessing she was. Of all the psychologists that could have been sent, we were sent one who knew precisely the color of the rainbow radiating from the playroom. And, she’d have known it even if I hadn’t gotten the walls done.
The preschool visit was a horse of a different color. Bonnie called us afterward and asked if she could make a second “in home” visit. She just had too much to reconcile. To her, Wylie appeared a completely different child at the preschool. It was there that she first experienced the folded-up-like-a-rock Wylie, the non-cooperative when asked to switch activities Wylie, the extremely detached from the reality of the class room Wylie. This disturbed her. Why was he so different? There were moments she noted where the Runaway Bunny emerged: during sing-a-long time when Wylie was allowed and encouraged to move to the music, and when he was on the playground. But, overall, the pieces from the preschool seemed to belong to a completely different puzzle then the pieces she had gathered in our own home.
After the second home visit and the scoring of my questionnaire, Bonnie came to a conclusion. Wylie demonstrated signs of Sensory Integration Dysfunction and tested as borderline “at risk” for Asperger Syndrome. (The subtle nuances of the diagnosis are important and for those interested, a lengthy note is appended). Bonnie recommended a special day class for Wylie and a referral to an Occupational Therapist for further evaluation of his motor skills. We spoke at length on several more occasions about our next step. Bonnie was certain Wylie would best learn in an alternative environment with smaller class size and intensive language therapy. In addition, she encouraged us to use stories called Power Cards to help Wylie overcome his fear of haircuts, the dentist, etc.
It was a lot to process. For the first time in a very, very long time, I wanted to drop like a rock.
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