Mom & Pop Home School

For the afternoon session of conference today, which we were fortunate enough to watch live in the comfort of our own home, there was a choir made up of children from two Utah cities. They were spit-and-polished to within an inch of their lives, and they sang and behaved beautifully. My own children were quite impressed with the children in the choir and shared these observations:

Sunshine (Pop had pointed out to Sunshine that there was a little girl who was missing a front tooth, just like Sunshine, who lotht one yesthterday.)” “Hey, you’re right, Dad! She looks just like ME! …..I wonder if I’m  there….” 

Cricket (During the closing hymn): “You mean those kids sat in those chairs for two HOURS?! Mom, are you sure those are really kids and not robots who just LOOK like kids?”

Our first session was today. It was WONDERFUL!!!

After a short discussion about safety around horses, Cricket met three horses, and they all seemed to like him–he’s very calm and kind with animals. One in particular, though, seemed especially interested in Cricket, so that one gets to be the one Cricket will work with. “Oscar” is a gentle, well-behaved old fellow (and by old I mean 20 years). He is also evidently the biggest one they have and likes to keep the younger horses in line. Cricket petted him for a while, and then Mrs. H. put a halter on him and they took him up to the barn to brush him. 

Cricket was very engaged and interested, and kept asking if HE could do various things, like unlock and open the gate and close it again. It was so nice to hear, “Can I try?” and not even once his more usual, “Do I have to?” or, “Can you do it for me?”

Mrs. H.  got out two curry combs and two brushes and showed him how to brush Oscar, and where Oscar’s favorite places to be brushed were. They talked about taking care of horses and why it’s important to make sure their backs are clean before putting a saddle on. Then she showed him how a saddle goes on. Several times he asked, “But how do you get up there?” which was a very reasonable question in light of the fact that his chin was at about stirrup level on this fellow (though to be fair, the stirrups were pretty short, but the saddle is higher than ds’s head). She told him she’d show him how when they got out to the arena. So then he asked if HE could lead the horse out to the arena, and she showed him how to hold the lead properly and off they went–this big ol’ horse following that little scrap of a kid. And Mr. Anxiety Disorder Asperger Dude was as calm as a summer day, I tell ya. You’d think he’d been doing that sort of thing for years. And what a good horse! If Cricket stopped, the horse stopped. When he started walking, the horse walked. No unexpected tugging, no shying, no trying to get away with nibbling on the grass along the edge. And there were a couple of times when it almost looked like the horse was sort of encouraging him along. And there’s Cricket with a big old cheezy grin on his face leading that horse ALL BY HIMSELF. He was SO proud.

So then they got into the arena and Mrs. H. showeds him how she would have him step in her hands so she could boost him up to the stirrup. And THAT he was nervous about. Not because it was high up, or he was nervous about the horse, but because he was afraid she’d drop him or something. But he sure wanted to get up there, and after all, he’s known her for a year, so after a little hesitation and a few false starts he got up the nerve to try trusting her to hold him up long enough, and pretty soon he was sitting way up there on that big horse grinning like a jack-o-lantern.

Mrs. H. led Oscar and Cricket around the arena for awhile, chatting about various things, and then she swung up behind the saddle and showed him how she could steer the horse with the reins, “just like a steering wheel”. He also learned that HE could make the horse go faster with his feet. You’d have thought it was Christmas morning!

Then it was time to go home. He came out of the arena chattering nonstop (of course) about Oscar and walked on down the path a way ahead of Mrs. H., Oscar, and me. Mrs. H. said softly, “Well, what did you think?” I indicated my enthusiasm and asked what she thought. She said she had just seen a side of ds that she had NEVER seen at her office. He was so open and confident, and he was even willing to discuss his feelings a little (which is something he rarely does, even with me). I told her that this was the reason I had pulled him out of school. This was the “real” Cricket underneath all that stress and anxiety and sensory overload, and the longer he was in school, the less the “real” him came out to play (so to speak). But I knew this great kid was underneath all that, if we could just find a way to draw that out more, and help him keep the interference at bay. Homeschooling has really lowered his stress levels, so I’m seeing much more of my son lately. And clearly the horses are a good direction to go in for him, because he was just so much “himself” around them.

So we’re all happy with the arrangement. Cricket is evidently in his element with the horses, and Mrs. H. has a good candidate to practice being a therapist on while she gets licensed, and we can afford the price, at least for now. And it’s such an answer to prayer. I just can’t even tell you how much this means to me. And it’s not just that it’ll be good for ds,Cricket either. It’s such a precise answer to such an out-of-the-ordinary prayer, that it really brings home to me how much my Father in Heaven is really concerned and involved and on our side. I mean–this is not a new concept for me, but sometimes I just get tired, you know? When life is just one thing after another, after another, with no breaks, and very little direction, and the only thing I can do is just keep putting one foot in front of the other and trust that God will get me where I need to go if I just keep moving where He leads me, even if all I can see is just the next step and no further. And this just came at a time when I really needed it. It’s like a hug from heaven.

__________________

At lunch today, Sunshine declared that Cricket was smarter than Mom. (She currently thinks EVERYONE is smarter than Mom, the rotten little soul.) Cricket liked that notion, and to prove it, he asked me, “Whats a hundred times a hundred?” I promptly replied, “Ten thousand.” “What?!” he exclaimed, “How did YOU know that.” “I know lots of things,” I said, “Can you tell me what is eight times nine?” (I picked that one because I know he can never remember it.) He looked stumped. I informed him that it was seventy-two, and see, he did still have a few things he could learn from me.

Sunshine, not to be outdone, started quizzing me (as if she knows anything about multiplication). “Mom, what’s two times seven?” “Fourteen,” says I. ”Oh yeah, Mom, what’s two times eighteen?” (She clearly had picked what she considers a BIG number—she’s still working on counting past twelve.) “Thirty-six,” says I. She furrowed up her little brow, determined to stump me with a REALLY big number. “What’s two times a HUNDRED!” “Two hundred.” Now she was GOING to stump me if it was the last thing she did (before finishing her sandwich)! “Mom,” she announced triumphantly after a moment’s thought, “what’s two times TREE?” Ok, I did hesitate at that one a little….two times tree? (Does she mean three? No, she never says three that way…) ”Uh….” I said after a moment, “Two trees?” She looked crestfallen. “Correct,” she declared. Then wonderingly, “How did YOU know?”

Funny how things work out. Earlier today I wrote a post about how much progress I’ve seen in Cricket in the area of self-control. It vanished irretrievably in a flash technological flatulance when I tried to post it . This afternoon he flew into a violent rage the likes of which have not been seen around here in some time. Maybe someone was trying to warn me.

Pop says he thinks it might be related to the adjustments in medication we’ve been going through. He may well be right. Pop says impending puberty might also be a factor (Cricket will be ten in a couple of weeks, and has already begun to need deoderant). Pop may well be right. But somehow after spending Sunshine’s entire dance class in the waiting area treating the other moms to a fascinating demonstration of self-defense (or was it child abuse?) dodging flying fists, feet, head, knees, elbows, and stuffed penguin while trying to avoid being spit on or licked, wrestling him to his stomach on the floor, pinning his arms behind his back and sitting on him…I don’t much care what the contributing factors were. I just want it to stop. (more…)

For some reason asking my son to hand write anything is like asking him to swallow a hippopotamus. Whole. Raw, wriggling, and covered in tabasco sauce. Any time he has to write more than a one word response (and there had better not be too many of them on a page) he gives me a look that effectively combines utter disbelief, abject horror, and�stalwart rebellion with a rather venomous death threat. He then generally throws down his pencil, overturns the page or workbook, buries his face in his hands, and starts moaning, “Noooooooooo!” I suppose I should just be happy that he’s using facial expressions and other body language cues to demonstrate his emotional state. Pshaw!

Needless to say, we do a certain proportion of our work orally. But I am determined that the child WILL learn to construct sentences, paragraphs, and yes, entire compositions–ahem–eventually. To that end, I consulted several months ago with the autism specialist from the school district. She’s been most helpful over the past few years since Cricket was diagnosed. She’s a sympathetic soul I can turn to for advice, and she championed our cause at the IEP meeting where we announced that we were planning to home school. I was just sure she could tell me the magical theraputic process by which I could, eventually, coax actual writing out of my stubborn Aspie son. Instead, she patted me sympathetically on the shoulder, shook her head, and said, (more…)

Well, the tree is up and decorated and even has a few presents piled underneath. Last night we assembled and decorated a gingerbread house (from a kit, no I’m not completely insane). Sunshine has mailed her letter to Santa, in which she asked for a Strawberry Shortcake video, some new toy food for her kitchen, and a pink and green stuffed turtle (Santa has not been able to find the turtle, but otherwise, she’s in good shape). She also, very thoughtfully, asked for some Dragon Blocs for Cricket and “some kinda grownup toys for Mom and Dad”. What a sweet child! The children have been faithfully opening the little windows on the advent calendar sent to them by Gigi (their paternal grandmother). And today for school we made cookies.

Yesterday we picked out recipes, made a shopping list, and went to the store where Cricket helped locate cookie ingredients and other grocery items. At one point I sent him back to the produce section because we’d forgotten the grapes I meant to get for Christmas Eve dinner (more on this later). After waiting awhile for him to come back, I went to see what was taking so long. The place where he is accustomed to finding the grapes was filled with gift boxes of oranges, and he hadn’t been able to find any grapes. Rather than panic (which is what he would definitely have done a year ago) or give up, he had resourcefully located a friendly-looking young man wearing an apron with the store logo on it and asked for assistance. When I arrived Cricket was making his selection and the young man was walking away with an amused smile and a twinkle in his eye. I can only imagine how the conversation might have gone. I tell you, though, moments like that definitely make me feel like this kid is going to be fine. He’ll grow up and have a nice, normal-ish, independent life. (There are other moments when I’m sure he’ll have to be institutionalized, like when he eats his bookmarks, but we’re not going to talk about that right now.)

Today he made a batch of snickerdoodles almost all by himself. All I did was help pour the vanilla into the measuring spoon (Him: “Mom, THAT’s vanilla? I didn’t know vanilla looked like THAT!” Me: “What did you think it looked like?” Him: “I don’t know, maybe lighter…and sort of creamy.” This led to a discussion about vanilla beans and where vanilla comes from. We even looked up a picture of vanilla beans online. And you thought cookie-baking shouldn’t count as school. Pshaw!) And I also rolled the dough into balls which he and sunshine rolled in the cinnamon sugar and put on the pan. But he did all the measuring and mixing himself. How’s that for cool! I helped Sunshine make lemon bars. She thought we should cut them to look like stars, but I talked her into diamonds instead. Whew! Tomorrow when we make sugar cookies we’ll make some look like stars.

Thursday we’re going to try our hands at some homemade candy. When I was growing up we often dipped chocolates at Chrismas time. This is going to be FUN! Ok, well, there’s a fairly high possibility that Cricket will flip out when he realizes I want him to put his fingers in the melted chocolate. I’m not sure how that’s going to go over, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I have to come up with a good batch of fondant first anyway. Aunt W (aka “auntie odd” in some comments here) is coming for a visit, and I distinctly remember her sitting at the next pie plate over during the childhood chocolate dipping sessions, so hopefully between the two of us we can pull it off.

So I think we’re ready for Christmas, more or less. I had wanted to hang lights on the house this year, which hasn’t happened due to everyone being sick, and I’m not sure it’s worth it at this point. The wreath and the nutcracker collection are still in a box. But the Christmas spirit is growing around here anyway. Sunshine lectures me at least daily about Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus, the kings and “their other friends who have pet sheeps” (for some reason the word “shepherd” is having a hard time sinking in). The presents are purchased (although I still need to pick up one more thing for auntie, and Amazon says some of Pop’s presents are going to be late…sigh…so he’ll get some wrapped up pictures of what’s on its way.) Sunshine has written a letter for Auntie’s dog, Duchess and placed it under the tree “so Duchess can eat it when she gets here” (at least she has realistic expectations as to what a dog might do with a letter). And we’ve got what we need for our Christmas Eve feast.

We have a little different approach to celebratory meals at Christmas time. This has worked out well for us because we have always lived too far from our extended families to do much visiting, so our wackiness doesn’t inconvenience anyone else. Auntie will just have to play along while she’s here, but she’s not the sort to get uptight about this sort of thing. Anyway, we have our special meal on Christmas Eve, rather than Christmas Day. We turn off all the lights and electronics (and in this house, that’s a rare even in itself) and eat by the light of candles and oil lamps (one of which is a replica of the kind of lamps used in Bethlehem at the time of Christ). We eat from simple wooden plates, and dinner consists of the kinds of foods that might have been available long ago in Bethlehem: olives, dates, figs, smoked fish, that sort of thing. We read the story of Christ’s birth from the scriptures, and talk about why this is important to us now. We find that this helps take the focus away from Santa and gifts, and who’s going to get what, and turns the evening into a special time in which we can bond as a family and feel the Spirit in our home. Dinner on Christmas Day is usually grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. This way, Mom doesn’t spend her holiday in the kitchen cooking a fancy dinner nobody’s going to eat because they’re full of stocking candy and nuts and Christmas cookies. It’s not everybody’s idea of a fun time at Christmas, but it works for us.

I may or may not get back here before Christmas, so if I don’t, please accept my best wishes for a blessed Christmas for you and yours, and I’ll be back again when the celebrations are past.

Cricket invited a friend over this afternoon. He (1)looked up the phone number himself, (2) dialed the phone himself, (3) calmly and confidently identified himself to the person who answered the phone, and stated his business, (4) waited calmly for his friend to come to the phone, (5) conversed with said friend in a friendly manner, (6) checked with his Mom to see if an alternate time frame would be acceptible, (7) reported Mom’s response to the friend on the phone, (8) verified the arrangements, (9) appropriately ended the conversation, and (10) hung up the phone himself.

Now, those of you who have known Cricket for any length of time will probably be aware of this already, but for those of you who may be new to the picture here, THIS IS INCREDIBLE!!!!

Out of these ten steps, the number he would have seriously balked at, or needed coaching or other assistance, or completely melted down in the face of at around this time last year would have been in the neighborhood of….oh….say….ten. A year ago….well, six months ago, really, he might have been willing to talk on the phone if I gave him a script in advance, and practiced with him, dialed the phone for him, and stood there with my ear by the receiver prompting him when to say hello, when to start in on the script, when to say goodbye, and giving assistance if (when) at any point the friend on the other end of the conversation deviated too far from the prepared script. So I am REALLY PSYCHED over this. It’s a “we’ve come so FAR!!” moment.

But then, icing on the cake, I reminded him of his practice session with the boy at school last week, and how his speech homework was to (if it worked with the family holiday schedule) invite a friend over, offer two choices of activities, and let the friend choose. Cricket said he KNEW (silly MOM!), and he already had two activity choices picked out. He’s ON it. What a great kid.

Well, it was Wednesday again today, which means speech and school psychiatrist sessions. I got to chat a little with the speech pathologist about her report from last week (see this post if you need a reminder of I’m talking about). She was excited (aka “interested”) because the interaction between Cricket and the other fourth graders who came in last week was so positive, appropriate and sustained. She, and we at home, have be working on helping Cricket learn appropriate greetings and leave-taking, as well as the give and take of conversational turn-taking (Aspies tend to “lecture” rather than converse). We’ve been practicing things like responding to a statement with a question about the statement and talking about things the other person wants to talk about. At first this was extremely hard. You’d introduce a topic of conversation, and he’d reply with something like, “Oh. Did you know crickets have ears on their elbows? They also….) When the four kids came in last week to bring something to Mrs. H., they started asking questions about Cricket as if he wasn’t sitting right there. She directed them to ask him. He evidently greeted them appropriately, and answered their questions, explaining about his homeschooling in a way they found interesting (one of the things they wanted to know was why he wasn’t in school anymore). They discussed the fact that he’d dyed the shirt he was wearing last week using onion skins, and he explained the process. There was good conversational turn-taking, finding things in common (something else we’ve worked on), good eye contact, appropriate tone of voice, facial expression, and body language–all at the same time (woo hoo!). When it was time to go, Cricket also engaged in appropriate leave-taking, and it was a good experience all around. In fact, it was evidently so good that the same kids came back yesterday looking for Cricket and were disappointed to learn that he only comes in on Wednesdays.

While Cricket was down in the psychiatrist’s office (whose name, confusingly enough, is also Mrs. H) Mrs. H the speech pathologist and I were sitting in the school office chatting about today’s session, and a girl came in to get something from the office ladies. Mrs. H. surreptitiously identified the girl as one of the kids involved. She had popped back in again when Cricket came back, and she greeted him enthusiastically on her way out. He returned her greeting somewhat hesitantly, but when she left he said he didn’t recognize her. I told him Mrs. H. had said she was one of the kids he talked with last week, and he perked up. He sometimes has a hard time recognizing faces when he meets up with them in a different context from where he first met them.

In this week’s speech session, Mrs. H. had arranged for a peer to come in to practice on. (Cricket does much better with adults or much younger children than he does with peers. I think it may be because in those situations a heirarchy is obvious, but a peer relationship is more egalitarian.) This was the same peer, M. from a couple of weeks ago. They didn’t hit it off back then; in trying to find something they had in common they discovered that M. dislikes video games (about which Cricket could converse for a month without drawing a breath) and Cricket dislikes sports (M.’s favorite thing). They worked together on a tricky puzzle for a while without being able to solve it, but when Mrs. H. came back from taking M. back to his class, Cricket had solved it alone. She said she was gone less than two minutes. (She had to have the answer sheet to solve it herself, evidently.) Anyway, last week they created, roll played, and practiced a script for starting out this week so that they could get off to a better start. Mrs. H. had contacted M.’s mother to see what he enjoyed. When he came in, Cricket was to greet him appropriately, state that he had Legos and Marble Works, and ask which one M. would prefer to play with. All this went smoothly today (though after it was over Cricket asked Mrs. H. why she didn’t greet M….lol. She apologized and said she’d remember next time. Busted!) Evidently M. chose Marble Works and Cricket graciously played with that even though he really wanted to play with the Legos. (This is a big thing for an Aspie also.) They played reciprocally and cooperatively and discussed what they were going to build as they went along. Mrs. H. said that there was one point at which it became apparent that Cricket needed an extra hand to hold things in place while he added a piece to keep them together. She said he looked at her and she played dumb. He shot her a you aren’t fooling anyone look, and then asked M. to help him. “Appropriately requesting help from a peer”is something they’ve been working at for a long time. (With difficult stuff like that they generally start with performing the behavior consistently with a familiar adult. Then with an unfamiliar adult. Then with a familiar peer. Then an unfamiliar peer. Then they start doing it in unfamiliar settings. It’s quite a process, but it seems to actually work, over time.) At any rate, the session was a success. She did say, laughingly, that she was a little frustrated because when M. left he said goodbye as he was walking away and without making eye contact. Oh, if only we all followed all these tidy little conversational rules all the time….lol.

Mrs. H. also said that she’d seen some amazing progress since we started homeschooling and that she agrees with me that he learns better, retains better, and is more willing to try hard things when he’s not stressed out of his mind just from being in the classroom. And who can blame him. Hooray for homeschool, eh?

The psychiatrist evidently had caught on to the fact that things were not stellar between Cricket and her. They spent today playing checkers and chatting, and she was quite impressed with his strategy skills.

So it was a good day with the professional staff today.

Well, tonight was the (secretly dreaded by Mom) Cub Scout Raingutter Regatta. And Cricket won!!

Ok, he didn’t win the Regatta. In fact he lost both of his races. But I was so proud of the way he handled it! No screaming, no crying, no throwing things, not attacking the winner, no running from the room. I wasn’t worried even for an instant that he was going to knock over the raingutters in a fit of rage. He was so IN CONTROL tonight. And, for Cricket, maintaining composure in a crowd under emotionally difficult circumstances like that is not only harder, but much more important than winning a boat race. It was amazing! I’m practically in tears thinking about it. Even after he lost, he was able to shake it off and actually go back and cheer for some of the other boys, and congratulate his friend who won in the Wolf den races. (Cricket is a Bear.) It was fabulous to be there, and just participate, and not have to coax or cajole, or make sure I was close enough to grab him before havoc was wreaked if he lost. Actually, I was pretty sure he was not going to come in first–the poor kid has always had a hard time blowing out birthday candles because he has difficulty regulating both the intensity and the direction when he blows. Blowing a boat down a raingutter is, well, just not his thing. He had me a little concerned at the beginning of the evening when his den was supposed to do the opening bit and he crouched under the edge of the stage at the end of the line, rolling his eyes at me–but he was at least up there with the other boys, which is quite a feat for him at the moment. And then he was okay. Really okay. I’m telling you, this was tremendous!