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Autism and the Teenager March 17, 2015

Posted by hopeauthority in Autism, autism activities, autism diet, autism teen, humor, Parenting, special needs, specific carbohydrate diet.
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He turned 13 this week. A teenager now.

Oh My God. How did this happen?

On one hand, I feel like it was yesterday when he was born, then diagnosed at almost 2. Maybe the fact that his autism had us locked into the “terrible twos” for ten years has something to do with my disbelief that my little man is now a teen. Yet on the other hand, I feel like I’m 102 and I can’t remember life before autism.

I had to laugh at all the Facebook friends who saw the birthday post that I have a teen… and started warning me to go out and buy hair color now. Hello? “Now”? “Now”, you say? Where have you been? Honey, I’ve been Clairol’s best customer for this whole 11 year ride. (Of course, I’ve been known to sport that gray “skunk stripe” more times than I’d like to recall when I didn’t have the time to get to the salon.)

Anyway, autism has grayed me, and aged me. And the teenage years to come scare me.

The hormones kicked in about a year ago, along with the teenage angst and the mustache. How is it that the kid has a mustache at 12 anyway? Seventh grade seems young to me for that. My boy. He is so gorgeous with his green eyes, slim build, long hair and ready smile. He could model…if only he could sit still and focus long enough.

I worry about his attraction to girls and their attraction to him. I see heartbreak and frustration coming. He isn’t “typical” enough for a relationship yet. Maybe someday. But he desperately wants to make connections and is trying so hard, though he lacks the conversational skills. His life-long desire to hug everyone, once cute, is getting awkward now as he grows to an already 5’4′ tall. Language is the one thing, no, the biggest thing, that prevents him from the breakthrough we all feel is right on the other side of that invisible wall.

He’s come so far though. I never thought he’d talk when he was first diagnosed. And while I can’t really yet imagine it, I am hopeful he will live a somewhat independent life someday. He takes dance and piano and acting lessons. He plays basketball, baseball and lacrosse on special needs teams. And in one of the greatest feats ever: He sang a two minute song…Do you Hear the People Sing from Les Miserables!…all alone with only an instrumental accompaniment while competing in a suit and tie in a local pageant on the stage of a large community theater. Massive accomplishment. Yet, he can’t hold a conversation.

You know what? Conversation is overrated. Today is a day to celebrate how far my wonderful teenager has come. And how bright his future will be. How bright all their futures will be.

* * * * * * * * * * *** * * * *

Brag on: What has your child accomplished that you never thought he/she would? Or what do you fear your child will never accomplish?

Finding Time to Blog on Autism May 21, 2013

Posted by hopeauthority in Autism, autism diet, Children, humor, Parenting, special education, special needs, specific carbohydrate diet.
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your-are-late

Oh. My. God.

I am so sorry… and so stoked… at the same time.

I don’t have to tell you why I fell off the blog bandwagon because you “get it”. Autism gets in the way of so many things. Including blogging.

Days fly by. Then weeks and years follow. And before you know it, your little “Fabio” is 11 and ready to graduate fifth grade and go to Middle School next year.  I simply can’t believe the time has passed. And yet I look so young. Not!

I’m not sure if any of my original followers are still out there, but I’d love to hear if you are and to catch up on how your not-so-little ones are doing!

The good news is that I’ve tried many new things for my little man and will be able to share that all with you. He is still on the SCD (Specific Carbohydrate Diet) and that’s 8 years now! I never thought I could keep up this maniacal pace of cooking and baking everything he eats for so long now. But I have. With the popularity of Paleo and Primal diets, SCD is easier than ever as many of those recipes fit SCD or can easily be adapted to comply.

I am looking forward to being here more often. You see, I blog for a living for some really wonderful doctors (part of what makes it hard to blog for pleasure). But here, I only have you guys to answer to, and I don’t have to weigh Every. Single. Word. I can just let it spill from the heart. Or from the gut. Whatever it happens to be that day. Uncensored “stim talk”.

Before I dive in, are there any questions? Any issues you’re having I can help with?

I can’t wait to start sharing all the funny things, the inspiring things, the ugly things…come on, it’s real autism here not the sugar-coated version. Also, there are the therapies like NAET, Braincore and HBOT. And the school and extracurricular stories. And the cursing…

Puberty is coming. Lord, help me.

It’ll be a blast. I promise.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

Who are you? Tell me about your little one.

 

Autism and the Holy Communion April 16, 2011

Posted by hopeauthority in Autism, autism diet, humor, religion, special education, special needs.
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It was a tough year of religious education with “C”. Many cold and snowy Saturday mornings. Many bouts of his OCD with the doors making me crazy. One sweet old doormat lady 1:1 volunteer who was totally useless ill-prepared for working with an autistic kid.

There are 3 special ed boys making their communion this year out of the class of 12 kids. Because of his many food allergies, there would be gluten free Jesus on the big day! Thank God…I thought I’d have to make my own Jesus and have to admit I wouldn’t know where to begin.

Out of all these kids, mine is the only one known to the parish priests. No, not because I was a good Catholic who brought him to Church every week so he’d get used to it. I didn’t. I was weak. I caved to the public “skunk eye” pressure after one incident where he threw up down my back after a crying fit at Mass as a toddler. Yes, you can get the skunk eye in Church.

They know me, my husband, and our son because our daughter has attended the parish school for 8 years. And since I am one of those parents who volunteers for everything up at the school, they know us well. Which makes the following tale even harder to tell.

Cut to the Communion rehearsals.

The doormat, bless her heart, has no control over “C”. (He immediately sized her up last fall and zeroed in on her weaknesses. She was doomed.) I decide not to intervene to see if she could guide him through this rehearsal. Big mistake.

You see, “C” is obsessed with doors, so just getting him to walk into the church (instead of repeatedly opening and closing the big glass entry doors) is tough. Of course, if you blow that, you’re sunk and he will spiral into a fit of non-compliance. The other problem is that his sister acts in local community theater, so to him, the altar’s raised, 4-step platform is just a big stage calling to him. Loudly. And he can’t pass a stage. Not without bowing, anyway.

So, he breaks away and goes up on the altar! He is taking a bow to imaginary applause. He is even holding his arm up and out behind him, like stage actors do to give props to the pit orchestra. Just great…

Now it becomes apparent that I have to go get him down. As I head toward him with the look of death a serious face, he runs behind the altar and, looking up at the 80 foot tall crucifix hanging above him, blurts out “SUM OF A B-I-I-I-I-T-T-C-H”.

Could you freakin die? Seriously.

And I’m standing up there asking myself what the hell I was thinking putting myself him through this sacrament. Sure it’s funny now. It really is.  I have my own issues with God and the “why my son?” thing. So why is it that this Communion is so important to me, I wondered, while dragging my holy terror off the altar in a headlock.

The second rehearsal was more of the same. With a sprinkling of him declaring to the congregation “Face it. I’m just not good in church!” Ugh.

So when Communion day arrived, I was a wreck. I’d warned the handful of family and close friends (who still don’t really get it) of how bad it could be, in the custom invitation I’d sent out. I worried big time about the fancy navy blue suit, crisp white dress shirt, and (gasp!) tie and (another gasp!) dress shoes. He is, after all, a kid who can (and does) undress himself in 5 seconds or less, every chance he gets. I envisioned him coming down the aisle barefoot,  in his wifebeater undershirt. I also worried he’d spit out the “church food” as he called it. Yep. Church food.

Turns out, he made a fool out of me. Walked down the aisle like a GQ model down a runway. I mean, he really worked it. He sat through the whole four hour Mass like an angel. And when it was time to receive his gluten free Jesus, he was precious. Took a couple little bites and swallowed hard like they were stuck in his throat. I had his shoulder in the Vulcan death grip the whole time, but his curiosity over the church food trumped the appeal of the stage. Take that, you Skunk Eyes.

God truly has a sense of humor.

The Dog Experiment: The Conclusion May 5, 2009

Posted by hopeauthority in Autism, Children, humor.
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Sorry, I left you all hanging after the mid-April report on the rocky beginning of the dog experiment (See April 14 post for recap.)  After much reflection on the 10 day fiasco trial, I’ve decided we are not ready for a permanent pooch in the house…yet.

First, my guide dog training days lead me to expect a perfectly behaved dog and Fabio still needs enough of my attention that I don’t have the time to train a puppy the way I’d want it to be.

Also, I’d be too worried about what trouble Fabio would be getting into while I was outside with the dog doing its “business”. And then there’s the issue of keeping Fabio away from the dog’s food and slobbery toys.

And then there’s the potential for allergies…Fabio has so many food and seasonal allergies and sensitivities already that a permanent dog may be a problem.

And I really had to watch Fabio and Rodney closely when they did play to be sure Fabio was gentle and played correctly.

And I was getting confused trying to keep track of when everybody last peed and pooped!

So, those are the generic reasons we aren’t getting a dog right now.

But back to the experiment, already in progress and going awry at last glance:

I consulted my dog behavior experts for help after the dog kept pooping every time I left him alone. Oh, and he also jumped up on the furniture…or your lap if you were sitting on it. And, uh, humping jumping on Fabio. 

Other quirks: He curled up and slept like a kitten on the front passenger seat of the car, but shook uncontrollably when placed on the floor of the front passenger seat. Wouldn’t stay in his freakin bed at night either …because he wants up on the bed. And, if you dared to leave him alone on a floor of the house for two seconds, he’d bark. Oh, and he licks feet and flip-flops. Ewww.

Did I mention he won’t  poop in the rain?  Well, not outside anyway. Not even when I’d hover over him with a golf umbrella. Did I really do that?! And did I mention that it rained almost every freakin one of the 10 days we had Sir Rodney?!

Of course I’d never tell Rose all these things about her little boy dog.  She’d either never believe me…or be crushed. And I love my friend, Rose.

So in addition to sending her text messages and photos … in Italy… of Rodney having fun, I planned a memorable homecoming.

Did you all hear the story about the lion cub that was raised by two men and then returned to the wild where it became the leader of a pride of lions? Then, after quite some time of not seeing the men who raised him, the men stepped into the lion’s “space” again. The lion, spotting the men, charges toward them. As the camera rolls, no one knows whether it’s going to pounce on them. Then, in a dramatic moment… and to the tune of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”… this playful, loving reunion takes place! Major tear-jerker.

I never saw this video, nor had I heard the story, until Rose shared it very casually over Easter dinner. A mental note was made. Ten days of hell followed and Rose was on her way to come get Rodney. Gee, did it look bad that all his stuff was packed up at the front door? 

So the stage was set. The You Tube song cued up for the chorus. The dog held back from view. Rose enters my apparently deserted house and calls out to me…conspicuously out of sight. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the silence was broken as Whitney broke into song: “And I-I-I- will always love You-oo-oo … I will Always love You …”

Then I simultaneously released my hold on Rodney and watched the magical reunion unfold.

Rose was hysterical crying … and hysterical laughing … as she hugged her little hairball. I also captured this moment on film so I can make fun of her for years to come.

And so I can watch it the next time I ever.even. think. about getting a dog.

Autism and Overnight Guests April 25, 2009

Posted by hopeauthority in Autism, Children, Family, grandparenting, humor, Parenting.
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Somebody save me. And Fabio.

I got the bright idea…born after too many consecutive sleep-deprived nights… to invite my 75 year-old aunt to come to visit and see my daughter’s stage debut.

Did I mention she never had kids? Or that she divorced about 30 years ago and still lives in the same house with her ex because they are both too ornry and stubborn to settle the distribution of their property. They sneer at each other as they pass in the hallway as each waits for the other to die first. Or that she never stops telling the same stories from her childhood …complete with the venomous grudge tone… about how my mom was the favorite and got everything, while she was, like, the slave version of Cinderella and had to cook, clean, and care for the youngest sister. Woe is her. Forever.

But, she was always good to me. And she loves my kids. So, I get these crazy, regrettable ideas from time to time. And I spent 8 hours on the road to get her back here on Friday.

And I’ve been kicking myself since because…

She won’t freakin get out of Fabio’s face. She’s like everything you’d want in a grandma…if you had a typical kid. But when you have an autistic kid, she’s like, oh, um, the anti-Christ of grandmas. I am waiting for Fabio to deck her.

Within minutes of arriving, she started forcing herself on him, trying to play with him. Not exactly his strongest trait. He plays with his toys. You watch. If you’re very lucky, you will be able to ease your way into playing with him, but must take his direction. He’ll let you know which toy you can have…and which one you can’t. He will give you a turn…after every 3 of his. Again, if you’re lucky and subtly work your way into his space.

So, he’s kinda like the Toy version of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. Yes, it’s Fabio, the Toy Nazi. If you don’t follow his rules… rules that seem ridiculous to typical people… “NO TOYS FOR YOU!”

And don’t even get me started on her attempt to move the assembly of 425 little toys (which we refer to as Fabio’s “concert” or “show”) off the dining room table. That show’s been in town for 2 months. He really doesn’t have much interest in it…unless someone touches it!

There’s really something wrong with this world when a little boy with autism can’t enjoy his grandma-type great aunt because she just can’t understand how to connect with him (despite parental guidance).  I feel guilty being frustrated with her…because at least she tries. There’s so many younger family and friends who don’t. 

Before Fabio went to bed last night, my aunt told him she was staying overnight and he should come see her in the morning. So he leapt out of bed at the crack of dawn and ran down to her room and crawled into bed with her. Steps behind him, I got a peek of her throwing the blanket over him and welcoming him in for a silent snuggle.  And I backed quietly away…

Some situations need guidance. Some, happily, don’t.

I guess she can stay awhile longer…

Autism and the Dog Experiment…Part I April 14, 2009

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Like I don’t already have enough on my plate with all my daughter’s activities and, well, with my little challenge, Fabio and his needs…

…now, there’s a dog in our house.

I’m one of those people who can’t say “no”. I’m also one who speaks first and thinks through later. That’s pretty much how Rodney… the prissy prince of a shit zui… came to live with us on Sunday night for the next 10 days while his owners are in Spain on vacation.

But truth be told, I would happily do anything for our very good friends, George and Rose. They are one of only 3 families that “get it” when it comes to Fabio, his diet, and autism in general. We spent Easter with them and came home with Rodney…and the most beautiful cast iron pot:  gigantic, fancy, French-named, green-painted, two-handled, very heavy, obviously expensive (and totally unnecessary!) “Thank you in advance” gift. I joked at the time that Rodney would actually fit inside if he were bad. I’m not laughing now.

Quick background: Hubby and I raised 5 guide dog puppies before the kids were born. I was the drill sergeant. The dogs were smothered with affection during those “infertility years”, but the competitive nature in me needed them to be the best. To have them succeed. Even when I desperately wanted them to fail so they could stay with us. And succeed they did. So I have Labrador experience. Which apparently counts for nothing when it comes to this pampered little lap dog.

But if I am being honest, I had selfish reasons to undertake this challenge. Yes, I was helping friends. But I could “test drive” the idea of getting a dog. See if Fabio would be good with it. Will he be gentle enough? Will he even be interested? Can I take the dog out to pee without Fabio burning the house down while I step out? Or is it still too soon?

I also can have my daughter earn her “Pet Care” badge for Girl Scouts by taking care of Rodney. She’s been begging me for a dog for years. I blame the economy, but she realizes it’s mostly due to her brother’s autism and my fear of something happening to him when I am outside tending to a dog. I don’t want her to resent him over this.  We’ll see how much she wants one after 10 days of taking care of him.

So, Rodney shits in the kitchen 10 minutes into this experiment. Next day, he does it again just to spite me for daring to leave him alone for an hour or so while I took the kids to the doctor. I know it was spite. He’d gone before we left. Rose’s 10 page instruction manual says he’s a one-dump-a-day dog.  He did that extra load…and walked his long hairy legs and paws through it… on purpose.

Game on, little hairball.

Autism and the Tooth Fairy March 29, 2009

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There’s the autism world. There’s the real world.

There’s the bridge between the two worlds…that I imagine as one of those rickety, rotted, wooden suspension bridges with missing planks like you see in the Tarzan movies. Every day, desperate parents risk it all to cross over with their special kids. To bring them back from wherever it is they’ve escaped to. Back to the real world.

As if this isn’t hard enough to make sense of…

There’s also the fantasy world. Enter the tooth fairy.

Holy enamel, Batman! How do you freakin explain this concept to an autistic little boy? Do you even try?

Well, having a typical 11 year old who still sorta believes in all things magical..sorta…and who happened to lose one of her last few teeth on the exact same freakin day as Fabio lost his tooth, I had to face the fairy.

It has been about 2 years since Fabio lost his first two teeth in quick succession, so he doesn’t remember anything about the fairy coming. This particular tooth has been hanging on for ages, so I knew the moment was coming. When Fabio flashed me his winning smile yesterday morning, there was no denying that the tooth…suddenly laying down flat forward in a pool of blood …had to be “helped” out of his mouth. Gross, I know.

After priming him all day, Fabio insisted on falling asleep in his regular spot…our bed…and on making a “tooth samwich” by putting the tooth between two pillows. He and his tooth were moved to his bed. His sister fell asleep with her tooth under her pillow. The tooth fairy left her standard $5.00 bill amid a dusting of glitter under her pillow. (You know…fairy wing dust!) For Fabio, it was a bit different…

I heard him stirring this morning and quickly went into his room in the hope he’d settle back to sleep. I found him sitting up with a dollar bill in one hand and a Kooky pen in the other. Did I mention that Kooky pens are his absolute favorite thing in the world and he’d do anything for one? I thought I got him to lay back down for a bit, but, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he jumped out of bed, rounded the corner and, before I could stop him, made it to his sister’s bedside.

He snapped the light on, flung back her covers and turned over her pillow to reveal her haul. I know he thought he would steal her Kooky pen, but alas, she only had a five-spot. Yes he pocketed that anyway. And then he hit the lights and climbed into her bed for the first time ever and snuggled in for another hour of sleep.

So, he got it. Somehow, he made the leap from reality to fantasy. I don’t know who or what he imagined the tooth fairy to look like, or how he thinks she exchanged the tooth for the goods, but he didn’t freak over the concept of his tooth being gone or of the thought that someone or something came into his room in the night.

I think the key to making this a positive experience was the kooky pen. It was in making the reward something relevant and desirable for him. Just money would mean nothing to him…despite pocketing his sister’s haul.

Let’s hope the Easter Bunny goes as smoothly…

Share your own tooth fairy experiences here!

Adventures with Mr. Gutter Mouth March 6, 2009

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I knew it would happen someday. 

The thing about talking …or swearing…in front of kids is that they soak it all up like a sponge. And don’t kid yourself about those cute little non-verbal autistic kids who seem to be in their own little worlds. Little sponges, I tell you.

Remember this one thing: Just because they aren’t talking, doesn’t mean they aren’t  listening. They understand more than you realize. And your day is coming. Mark my words. It’s coming sooner than you think.

So, the politely vague note comes home from the teacher’s aide (who is, like, 14 years old or something) and it says Fabio “had a ‘slip’ and they ignored it”. So, dope that I am, I am thinking my kid fell down and they left him there. Then it goes on and says something about writing neatly and a ‘slip’ again. WTF? So I politely write back that I don’t understand what they are saying, please clarify.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me, the code word for a curse/swear/bad word is a ‘slip’. Ohhhhhh….I get it now. So the details of the exchange were as follows:

Teacher’s aide: “Fabio, you need to rewrite this assignment. It is not neat enough.”

Fabio (begrudgingly rewriting it, replies): “Son of a bitch…”

Look, I’m a bad mom. I admit it. I laughed at the picture in my mind. Do I want him to go around cursing? Of course not. But I am not going to have a fit over an occasional ‘slip’. Especially when used in perfect context!

What did bug me was the note that came home with the details from this doe-eyed youth of a teacher’s aide. She had whited-out the following addition: “He did NOT learn that at school, for sure.” (Yes, I read the back of the page and could easily see what she meant to conceal!)

I’m not proud to report that I sent in a note today figuratively ripping her a new one over that comment. I told her it was out of line. I told her almost every parent and every kid, typical or not, curses on occasion. I told her that since she is not a parent much less a parent of a kid with autism, she most definately was out of line in judging me.

Then I added that I know he didn’t learn it at school because he learned it from me. I told her she could also hear an occasional “Goddamnit”, so she’d better brace herself for it.

I explained that during the SIX YEARS  I waited and worried for Fabio to find his voice, I promised myself that…if only he would speak… I would never tell him to be quiet. That even a bad word would be a good sound to my ears.

She called me first thing this morning to apologize for the misunderstanding, which I really appreciated. I believe she learned something important today about perspective. Something she can use in the remaining zillion years of her teaching career since she is just starting out. 

That and that you can still read whited-out text from the back of the page. Well… son of a bitch!

———————————————————–

Note to friends and followers: My 100th post is very close. In keeping with tradition, I am considering making it a post answering any questions…tasteful of course…that you may have about me. So if there’s anything you want to know that you don’t already, let me know.

It’s Groundhog Chili Time! February 2, 2009

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That’s it. I’ve had it with this tradition of pulling a hibernating hairball out of its hole to determine whether we get an early spring or …as is always the case… another six weeks of miserable winter.

What do they think the nasty critter is going to do? Reward us with the gift of an early spring? And let’s not even get started on how they can possibly know what the groundhog sees…

Why every guidance counsellor on the planet isn’t pushing all students to become weather forecasters is beyond me. It’s the only career where you can be wrong 90% of the time…and still keep your job. They rely on fancy doppler technology and cranky groundhogs.

Anyway, my autism point as it relates to Groundhog’s Day is that I hate winter and the way the freezing cold for months on end limits Fabio’s activities. Sure, I like the first snowstorm (especially if it falls on Christmas Eve). The first snow day. The first sleigh ride. But then…

I miss the warmth of summer. The pool and the beach. The fun in the sun. The ability to stay outside for hours with the kids. I like how Fabio can burn off so much more energy in the summer. And how it it’s just plain easier to deal with everything without snow boots, soggy winter gear, and the ever present salt, sand, and muck. The sniffles and sneezes. The stir crazy weekends.

So this is a call for all the great creative moms (and dads) out there to help each other out and answer the following question:

What do you do …inside/outside/and away from home…when its snowing outside to keep your autistic and typical kids busy? 

We need to pitch in and help each other survive the remaining six weeks of winter. So let me start things off.

I love to cook with my kids. And in the winter, I love to use the crockpot. It’s so easy. Just chop up a few veggies and toss them in with just about anything…

…like a groundhog or something.

If Autism Went to the Inauguration January 20, 2009

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Well, today’s the big day. The long-awaited changing of the guard. All the drama of the train ride to the capitol, the rock stars and celebrities, the almost poetic set-up of Martin Luther King Day on the eve of this historic event…

It’s the inauguration of the man who promised to help families with autism. (Did you think I was going to say it’s historic because he’s the first president who’s part African-American? Please…that point’s been beaten to death. Time to move on to the issues.)  

Everybody who is anybody will be there…

What? You’re not going? Well, why the hell not?

Oh, we’re not going to play the “autism card”, are we?

Come on. Washington DC is only about 6 hours away from here. If we factor in the crowds, maybe its 9 hours total. Let’s all pretend we’re like regular American families today and throw the kids in the car and head off for the inauguration. We can cheer “Yes We Can” all the way there.

I can see it now…

After 9 hours in the car, the kids will be so excited to be able to get out and stretch their legs when we finally arrive in DC.  Wait a minute…is that MY boy running full speed across the White House lawn? (Gee, I’m so sorry Mr. Secret Service man. Please call off your snipers…)

Yep, I’m just gonna freshen up in my $5,000/night fancy hotel room for a moment. (That’s just a drop in the bucket for the average American family with autism, ya know.) Um, Mr. Conceirge, what do you mean the satellites are jammed and you can’t get Noggin?

Okay. Don’t panic, just let me think a minute. Food. Yes, food…that’s what we need. How about some room service?  Look, your freakin brochure said you COULD accommodate a GF/CF diet!

The swearing in should be interesting. No you can’t color in THAT book, honey…it’s Mr. Lincoln’s bible and the President won’t share.

Just think how comfortable they’ll be in a crowd of only, uh, 2 million strangers…Don’t touch that man. Its snowing, put your hat, gloves, coat and shoes back on. Don’t touch that man. Why are you covering your ears, honey? Don’t. Touch. That. Man. 

Glad I rented that little tux for the occasion. I know the tag bothers you, honey, but you really can’t go to the Inaugural Ball in your standard bare feet and underwear.

Shoot. I never get to dress up and go out. Do you think its ok if I wear the last fancy dress I bought to the Ball? Apparently not…The 90’s called. They want my dress back…

Look, I really wanted to go to the Ball. Hey, maybe I can find a sitter. There’s only 2 million people in town. Surely one of them has a Master’s in Special Ed, is trained in ABA, PT, OT, Speech, Sensory, Floortime, PECS, and has knowledge of the GF/CF diet, lives to change diapers, has lots of hugs and kisses to spare, the patience of a saint and a clean background check. Well…maybe not.

Even in a crowd of 2 million, autism would feel alone at the Inauguration.

If I want to feel alone, I can just do that every day at home. Better start unpacking the car.

Let’s hope that change really is coming…