Abortion, Cocaine and Such

I think I might have solved a long standing mystery in our household.  As I mentioned in my previous blog post, Josh has a habit of repeatedly speaking out a word or phrase which he takes a liking to.  We are guessing that he doesn't speak the word for what it means to most of us but he likes how it sounds.  Sometimes they're nonsense words that he's made up like "recordian".  Oh how he loves to say that.  I'll walk into his room and he'll be saying, "recordian" and just savoring the sound of it with a sweet smile it like he's had some fine wine or gourmet chocolate or something.

One of his favorite real words is "abortion".  He seriously says it all the time. A new word which Josh is fond of is "cocaine".  It's both annoying and disturbing to have him say these words over and over and over again.  They're not lovely words.  I don't like that he says them and I don't know where he got them.

Starting about a year ago, he'll say a word or phrase aloud and then he will keep saying it until we say it back to him.  Maybe it's his autistic way of being relational or interactive but it sure doesn't feel very relational from the neuro-typical side. And if we don't say it back to him, he'll keep saying it with more volume and intensity until one of us breaks down and finally says the word just to get him to shut up, especially if we're in a car together.

"Abortion? Abortion?  ABORTION!"

"Yeah, abortion, Josh"

"Hey, I thought we weren't going to say it back to him!"

"Yeah, we need to break him of this pattern.  It's so annoying!"

"I just can't stand it anymore.  I just need him to stop."

"Yeah, I know."

(3 minutes pass)

"Cocaine?"

You get the picture.  Anyways, today I walked into his room where he was listening to the radio and caught the tail end of someone sharing a testimony on the Christian radio station.  The person was sharing about how he used to be a major cocaine user until Jesus came into his life and now he's sober.  Oh. My. Goodness.  That's it.  Josh has been picking up these words from CHRISTIAN FREAKING RADIO!  I bet that's where he got the word "abortion" as well!  Ok now.  How can I fix is little CD player to not be able to play Christian radio?  And no rap stations either.  That might be where he's getting all his swear words.

A Shared Joy is a Double Joy

Yesterday I took my kids through a drive-through car wash for the first time in their lives.  It was, to Josh, a revelation.  He was immediately deeply engaged by the experience, exuding a sense of awe that one might have when observing the Grand Canyon or the earth from space. The brushes going back and forth, the spray of the water, the squirting of the detergent, the vibrating rumblings of the machine that ensconced us, these things were absolutely enthralling to him.  

This blog is called "shower heads and hairdryers" because those have been two of Josh's absolute favorite things since he was very little.  Many autistic individuals have a special interest in unique things such as elevators, trains, or dial tones.  Showers have always been the zenith of interest for Josh.  He can spend a good part of a day drawing them.   One year for his birthday, we printed out dozens of images of shower heads and hairdryers and put them up all over the house.  It was better than a trip to Disneyland for my son.  

 As the carwash brushes whirled by spraying florets of water, I could hear Josh whisper with a voice of wonder, "shower head." 

"Yes, Josh" I said. "It's like we're in a shower head.  Like a car shower."

"Like a car shower," said Mr. Amazed.  "Like a car shower."  

For the next 10 minutes, Josh yapped happily about his experience, savoring the sounds of talking about what he had just seen.  

"Like a shower.  Like a brower.   Like a shower head.  Like a dower.  Is it like a zower?  Drower?  "

After a while, Josh's annoyed sisters coudn't tune him out.  "Josh, please stop."

But there was no stopping him.  Home boy was on a roll.  "Zower.  Like a shower.  Shower head. Brower.  Would you like a dower?  It's a car shower.  A car brower."  

"Girls, let him talk.  He's happy."  I said, taking in Josh's exuberance.  

Yes, Josh was very happy and he wanted to share it, in his own way.  And this filled me with joy, even though it was a little bit like being swallowed by a Dr. Seuss book.  My son was sharing about something.  He wanted us to share in something that he was experiencing. 

When I serve in our church's nursery, one of the things that tears my heart a little is watching little 9 month babies point to things.  Pointing is a sign of something very important in a child in terms of his or her neuro-social development.  That child is wanting to share about something with another person.  Pointing, eye contact, shared attention on another interesting object, these are things that naturally happen in a typically developing child, even at a very young age.  It is a critical building block of learning and connecting.  A child points to something then an adult says, "Yes, that's a train. It's Thomas the train.  And this is Percy.  Percy is green!" With a facial expression, tone of voice, and eye contact the child takes in the nuances of meaning.  The experience of sharing attention is a magical portal for learning.

Most autistic children have a very low impulse to have shared attention.  They are often content to experience things on their own, thus, their worlds tend to develop in ways that are not very connected to most people.  This was true of Josh.  I don't ever remember him pointing to things.  He rarely wanted to share his interest or joy in something that was interesting to him. Shared interest has been, to Josh, a very, very thin thread in his developmental life but it's there. 

Yet, in this moment, even in his ramblings, I could tell that Josh was trying to express to us that he had experienced something extraordinary: a shower in a car.  I longed to milk this moment of shared attention and shared joy for all that it was worth.  

This morning as I woke Josh up, I said to him, "We were in a car shower yesterday, huh, Josh?"  He smiled a little smile and said, "Car shower".  And I thought that there was a split second of eye contact as he said it.  

A professor once told me that a shared joy is a double joy.  And even though I need to be at work in a few minutes, I have to post about this moment because I want to double, triple, quadruple my joy.  My son had a moment of joy and, in his own way, he wanted to tell me about it!  It brings me such happiness to reflect on it, to relive the moment!  ZOWER!

May you have a moment of wonder today and may you have the grace-joy-synergy-energy to share about it.  

Mess and Beauty

Today was a wonderful, delightful, horrible, draining, inspiring, uplifting, confusing, chaotic, burdensome and beautifully rich day.  Ever have one of those?

This afternoon I took Josh with me to our monthly visit to serve dinner to local homeless folks.  My husband and I usually take turns bringing one of the girls along while the other parent stays home with Josh.  The church where this meal is hosted is lovely but the whole experience is rather loud and chaotic.  We've always just assumed that Josh would hate it.  Today both girls happened to have activities this afternoon so I took a risk and went with my son.  Developmentally disabled, visually impaired autistic people need to serve too, right?  

Josh hung in there much longer than I expected.  From the first few minutes he kept saying, "I want car." but he eventually let me put some thick, purple latex gloves on him and helped me serve rolls with a pair of tongs.  The tongs were not easy for Josh to manage but as he gave himself to the task, his dexterity improved, especially since I told him that he could eat some of the bread after we had served the people.  My guess is that he served about 30-40 guests before he plopped himself down on bench behind me and loudly declared, "Want bread."  He spent a good chunk of the rest of the time gnawing on a roll (or five).  

Josh had a subtly softening effect on the clients, even the clearly mentally ill ones.  One gentleman who was wearing a toga made of torn cloth with lavender flowers tucked behind each ear gave Josh a little smile as he went through the line.  It reminded me of how infants or dogs bring out kindness and gentleness in people.  

By the end of the evening, several homeless folks came up to Josh and thanked him for his service.  I was worried that people might be offended by Josh's lack of social response or even eye contact so I said, "Sorry but he doesn't really talk."  The gentlemen were not at all deterred.  One nodded vigorously and knowingly said, "Oh he knows exactly what I'm talkin' about.  He can talk all right.  We just don't understand him."  

Another man who had worn a hard, even fierce look on his face during the whole meal took a moment to encourage me before heading back out onto the street.  "You're doin' a good job with him. He's a fine young man."  This really touched me.  Honestly, the man has no idea whether I'm a good mom to Josh or a complete whack case of a parent but he wanted to extend some kind word to bless me.  I'll take that.  

Josh sang and laughed in the car all the way home.  Who knew that he knows the words to Madonna's "Star light, Star bright.  First star I see tonight..."  He waved his hands in the air back and forth, back and forth in his little spot in the very back of my van.  The 10 year old friend of my daughters who was coming home with us for a quick play date astutely observed that Josh was very happy.  Truly, my son was a complete delight in that moment, a profound treasure.

Minutes later, the sun went down on my affections for my beloved.  I lost track of Josh for a few minutes as I was shifting into "getting people headed toward bed" mode.  My girls came home from piano, swimming and choir with many stories, requests and needs.  The world series was on TV so that also snatched up pieces of my fragmented attention.  As I was battling dishes while serving up placating slices of cake,  in the corner of my eye I saw that Josh's bedroom door was open and my bedroom door was closed.  I knew in an instant that he was not hiding out in his room but mine.  My mommy-intuition told me that something was not right.

I opened my bedroom door to see that Josh had found the pen next to my bed that I had been using to journal earlier today.  For some reason, my delightful treasure of a boy had chosen to draw all over several pillows and my brand new duvet cover.  How he had managed to draw so much in so little time I do not know.  Maybe he had thoughts or feelings or energy that he needed to get out.  He was a happy little soul, clapping and laughing, like someone who had taken a satisfying artistic dump on my bed.  

I could feel my head and my extremities tingling with the stress of the moment.  Of course, that was exactly the moment that my girls chose to have a conflict and their friend's dad was due to pick her up at any moment.  I made it very clear that they all should steer clear of Mommy for a few minutes.  

Later, at "Second Snuggle", the time I have a private chat and prayer time with each child, my daughter Hope asked me why I had been so upset.  

"Hope, pillowcases I can throw away but I am very sad that Josh ruined my brand new comforter.  I don't know if ball point pen comes out and king sized comforters cost a lot of money."

Hope looked squarely at me and said, in her very 8 year old, Hope way, "Mom, you are too concerned with how things look.  Josh's designs look pretty.  A lot nicer than your boring old comforter.  You should be happy that he drew on it."

I was tempted to just scoff and dismiss what she said because she has no idea about how hard it is to maintain a household with a kid like Josh living in it.  But in a little corner of my heart I wonder if she's speaking some truth.  Maybe there is art in mess and some of the most beautiful art is found in the interaction between homeless people and children with developmental disabilities or in shower heads on pillowcases.  Maybe it is worth pausing and taking a look at things that autistic people draw on pillows and duvet covers.  I still think that I'm too uptight of a person to truly appreciate beauty in the midst of mess but I'm trying.

Four Extroverts

Josh cries to express his frustration or displeasure but he doesn't have the words to complain.  Sometimes I wonder, what would he complain about if he could communicate like a typically developing 10 year old?

One thing that I can think of that he might complain about is how extroverted the rest of his family is.  Josh's parents and sisters are all raging extroverts.  We love to talk, relate to people constantly, and talk about relating to people.  Parents of other kindergarteners complain to me that they can never get their kids to tell them about how their day was.  Anna would give me a minute by minute explanation of how her day went and how she felt about it if I didn't stop her.  We're talkers.

I grew up in a household of introverts so I think I had a vague sense of growing up wishing that people would talk to me more.  More often than not, weekends were spent with everyone reading books in separate rooms.  Car trips were usually quiet and reflective.  That drove me crazy but, then again, I didn't really know any better (or different).

The household that I am shaping is not so quiet.  We have a constant flow of people over at our house.    We have vivacious conversations at the dinner table about all manner of topics (although, usually scaled down for the kinder/ 1st grade crowd).  We usually do one round of "What was your highlight or lowlight of your day?" every day.  There are a LOT of questions asked and conversations that start with, "You know what I was just thinking about?"  People don't just think quietly around here.  We have to TALK about what we are thinking about.

I am not sure but, even if Josh had the cognitive ability to be more verbal person, I think that he would be an introvert.  He really enjoys time alone (preferably with music) and seems quite happy to just chill out in his room.  Josh is also happy to just sit together on our couch, not talking, just being together.  Physical touch is a bigger "language of love" than talking.  Sometimes, when his sisters (and their chatter) come home, he runs as fast as he can to his room and buries his head under his blankets.  Josh's proclivity towards a more introverted lifestyle reminds me that we don't always have to be socializing or talking to be happy.  I think I need that.

Especially during this holiday season, our life is full of parties, gatherings, celebrations and other such extroverted interactions.  While I really enjoy this, in general, today my spirit felt too full of talk and people.  I think that my girls felt the same because when they asked me what we were doing today and I told them that we had no plans and that we were just going to stay home, they seemed happy.

Everyone is in separate rooms reading or listening to music right now so I think I will also try to have a more introverted moment.  After I finish sharing my thoughts with you in this post :)