INT. BILLY'S BEDROOM – NIGHT.

I open the door to find Billy lying on the floor, arms at his sides, legs together, toes pointed. There is an intense look of concentration on his face.

ME: Billy, what are you doing?

BILLY: (without hesitation) I'm playing luge.

A beat.

ME: You mean the sled thing that goes down the ice chute?

Another beat.

BILLY: Mama, will you play luge with me?

CUT TO

A few moments later …

Both of us are now lying on the floor, side-by-side, with our toes pointed.

BILLY: Mama! Are you winning?!

Yes. Yes, I am.

Billy has become really interested in feelings lately. "Mama, how do you FEEL?" is a frequent question.

And he squints his big blue eyes and seems to really concentrate as I give my answer.

He seems dubious of simple emotions lately: happy, sad, silly and tired no longer cut it.

So I've tried to introduce slightly more complex emotions like frustrated, peaceful, confused, etc.

Which brings us to ...

INT. BILLY'S ROOM - NIGHT

It's bedtime. We've just tucked in, had a final story and he has said his prayers.

BILLY: Mama, what are you feeling please?

ME: (thinking about it) I feel peaceful. That's a quiet kind of happy that's good for bedtime.

He squints his eyes as though he doesn't believe me.

ME: And hungry. I have to go have my dinner now. How do YOU feel?

He considers this for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Then his eyes return to mine.

BILLY: I'm concerned.

ME: Concerned? That's a big word. Do you have a problem?

BILLY: Yes.

ME: Tell me about it. What are you concerned about?

BILLY: (emphatically) Mascara.

A beat.

ME: Mascara? Why are you concerned about mascara? Do you not know what it is? Do you not understand what it's for?

Another beat. He considers.

BILLY: Yes.

ME: Well. Mascara. It goes on ladies' eyelashes to make them ... um, darker and longer ... it's kind of like ... paint?

Billy's look has evolved from concerned to what I would call "alarmed."

ME: It's dress-up. Let's just leave it at that. No cause for concern, OK? Absolutely nothing to worry about with mascara.

Then I kiss him on the head and turn out the light.

BILLY: (in the dark) Mama? Are you peaceful?

ME: Yes I am.

Both my kids have stomach flu again ... which reminded me of the last time this perfect storm of illness hit our family. Because everything in this post pretty much still applies, because my kids have probably passed this on to any number of other unwary children in their classes, and because I'm just this lazy, I'm going to repost my thoughts on ...

Sickness and Autism

Originally posted: 02/19/2010 10:55 am

I'm starting to think our family is being targeted by some insidious form of biological warfare. Their weapon of choice: stomach flu. Brilliant when you think about it: no one suspects foul play and you slowly sap your targets of their will to dress themselves.

I'm not sure what the goal is of this particular terrorist cell, considering we have most of our assets tied up in our extensive collection of Thomas the Train engines. [update: We have diversified into solar system toys and iPad apps.] And we don't have time for any political activism. Heck, we don't even have time for physical activism.

But we're sick again. And when Billy is sick, it's like living with a dozen sick children. Everything is so much worse, so much more terrifying for him. For a child sensitive to the slightest changes in his sensory input -- vestibular (balance/gravity) and olfactory (smells) being some of our particular bugbears -- having a stuffed up head and upset stomach is his idea of living hell.

Actually, I should say that it's one step removed from his living hell: True Hades would be sickness and a visit to the doctor. He has an absolute terror of the pediatrician's office, or any office that looks like it might be harboring a pediatrician somewhere. He had a complete meltdown the first time we visited daycare, because they had a window at the front much like the doctor's office.

We don't go to the doctor unless absolutely necessary. He does get vaccinated -- we have that to look forward to again on his fourth birthday. [Note: we survived that visit amazingly well in the end.] And he's had stitches and antibiotics at various times in his life. But finding a doctor with the patience and bedside manner to deal with what some people see as histrionics is rare. Our hometown doctor, Dr. Greg Sloan, was always amazingly patient with Billy, even though pediatrics and certainly autism were not his specialties.

We've adopted a certain routine when it comes to the doctor, which doesn't eliminate the problem, but does seem to minimize it to a degree:

1. We make sure the doctor's office is well informed about Billy's autism and how autism manifests itself in Billy. Every autistic child is different, so they should know ahead of time that he's strong, likely to be very scared, and may scream. We also warn them not to touch his head unless absolutely necessary.

2. We start talking to Billy about visiting the "Nice doctor" early in the day. We get out his toy medical kit, give his bear "Tah-Tah" a quick check-up, read a few books about visiting the doctor, and let him give us a checkup, checking our heart with the stethoscope, checking our temperature, etc. Then we let him take his doctor kit to the pediatrician.

3. Whenever possible, get the last available appointment of the day. If he does get upset, then we don't have to worry about upsetting quite so many children in the lobby. Also, it means that it we have to wait, the lobby isn't crowded with other new people, which can upset him when he's sick.

4. Weather permitting, one of us strolls him around outside, while the other waits indoors to hear his name called.

5. We insist on the thermometer that can be gently run across his forehead. He still doesn't like it, but it beats the pants off the one they have to stick in his ear.

6. If the doctor is wearing a white coat, ask them to please remove it before coming in the room. And we give them the warning about touching his head again.

7. Whenever possible, we touch Billy for the doctor, such as holding the stethoscope against his chest, using the thermometer, etc. We obviously can't vaccinate him, but the less he gets touched by a stranger, the better.

8. Hold on tight and keep telling him we love him.

With any luck, we won't have to go to the doctor with this round of flu. But I've been reading "The Berenstain Bears Visit the Doctor" just to be on the safe side.

As I reported last week, Dave was out of town for nearly a week. Upon his return, this smiling child greeted him ...

(Billy was there too, but he ran past so quickly there wasn't time for a photo.) Almost immediately *I* had to leave and go out of town overnight. The last time I left, BILLY MADE A CAKE. This trip, I returned after less than 24 hours to find ...

OK! Daddy says I'm ready for church!

So you can just imagine what the rest of the house looks like. Check back later if you'd like to find out if I survived the aftermath -- and to hear which of you won the Scentsy Giveaway!

I've been out of touch again because we've been on Spring Break. It wasn't that we didn't have Internet access; the condo where we stayed had wireless high-speed Internet. It wasn't that I purposely took a break from electronics in an effort to reconnect on a more personal level with my family – as much as I'd like to claim that as the reason. In fact, the reason I have not been blogging is #1 on my list of “A few things Mama learned during Spring Break 2011 ...”

1. You have to be able to hear yourself think in order to write.

Who would have thought? I had all these wild and crazy ideas about our vacation at the beach ... before we actually left. As I packed swimsuits and running shoes and sunblock, I imagined myself starting each day with a meditative walk on the beach, followed by a trip to the spa downstairs where I would work out for a full hour before hitting the sauna. In my mind's eye, I topped off this indulgence in self-care with a full body massage and pedicure. Which brings us to ...

2. After 24 hours with my kids at the beach, I want to work out like a hole in the head.

And as for the sauna: HA! I was lucky to have time for a shower. The closest I got to a pedicure was rubbing my feet on the bottom of the pool while carrying a child on my back.

But it was phenomenal week. Last year at this time, we had a “stay-cation” for Spring Break. We just didn't feel that Billy was ready for sleeping overnight in a strange place. That was a great holiday too; we just stayed in town and “played tourists” in our own city.

This year, though, we took the next step: an actual week-long vacation. Number 3 on my list is something I've stated before ...

3. A year can make a world of difference in the life of a child, any child.

Please remember that -- and help me remember it -- when we get a bit down about the current situation.

We take so many things for granted now that were practically unthinkable a year ago: eating out in (certain) restaurants without meltdown, the kids (mostly) sleeping through the night, Billy being potty-trained, Billy enjoying the company of other children. It's important to look back and realize that, even if it seems slow sometimes, progress is being made. And speaking of other kids ...

Beach sand = yummy tactile input :-)

4. Sometimes when we back off for a little while, nudge our little birds out of the nest, they will make breakthroughs seemingly on their own.

I sat in rapt wonder at a playground this past week as Billy played for a good half-hour with another little boy. They threw a ball back and forth, kicked it (sort of) to one another, chattered away in their own little ways, laughed and had a big sporty little boy-time. He didn't need me to provide appropriate social prompts, encourage him to take turns or guide his behavior in any way.

Of course, this wasn't actually a miracle. It just looks that way sometimes. His devoted team of speech therapists, teachers, aides, behavior therapists, occupational therapists, and family members have been working towards this goal for YEARS.

So team, take a bow -- alongside Billy. Your hard work has resulted in one happy four-year-old enjoying a great day at the playground and making a new friend.

5. Vacation is no time for flashcards.

Of course, that didn't stop me from packing them. I broke out the sequencing cards one morning (3-step cards to help him learn “first, second, last” storytelling), and asked Billy about one simple picture story depicting a boy getting a book off the shelf, “Billy, what does the boy want to do next?” Instead of picking out the picture of the little boy reading, Billy replied, “Go to the beach.” And I got the message.

As a mom, I have to work on “going with the flow” a little bit. It's tough. If you read this blog regularly (and thank you, if you do!), I'm a control freak. I readily admit it. I spend so much of my time trying to be three steps ahead of every meltdown that I forget to relax and let my kids be kids sometimes. I used to have “Every moment can be a learning moment,” as my mantra, but my new mantra is, “Every moment doesn't HAVE to be a learning moment.” Chill out, mom.

6. It's Willow's vacation too.

Wait a minute, I have another kid? Sometimes, it still kinda surprises me, because so much of our planning goes into giving Billy the support he needs in any situation that I forget that Willow has "special needs" too. Even her birthday party gets planned around Billy's schedule, challenges and preferences. She's NEVER managed to blow out her own birthday candles without him getting there first.

Cool digs, huh? Thanks, sis!

Willow's few needs are for a moment of individual attention each day, a handful of birthday cake, and then she's good to go. The rest of the time, she's happy to make it all about her “Bee-dah” too.

7. Billy is pretty funny.

This isn't a revelation, but I was constantly reminded over the past week. One day, he was passing a stone-shaped speaker by the condo pool, he stopped pointed, and said, “I think that's ROCK music!” Then he nearly fell in the pool he was laughing so hard at his own joke. It was a pretty good joke.

8. Autism can still surprise me. And hurt. And confuse us.

Are these the "captains" that have so terrified Billy? Possibly.

Out of nowhere, Billy became incredibly fearful in the middle of our vacation. He suddenly balled up in a corner, with his fingers in his ears, screaming, “I'm so scared!” He stayed that way, off and on, for most of the next 24 hours. When we coaxed him into talking to us, the most we could get out of him was, “I'm scared of captains.” He had seen some cartoon about pirates, and we had been to a restaurant called “Peg-legged Pete's,” neither of which seemed particularly scary.

All we could figure was, like his fear of kangaroos, the fear of “captains” really means something else, some mystery made up of sensory overload, unpredictable schedule and general weariness born of several days of non-stop activity. All we can do sometimes is sit close to them, talk softly and wait it out.

Or, in Dave's case, promise Billy that if we see any captains, we'll “kick them in the peg leg and laugh.” I don't know what sort of effect this is going to have on Billy's ability to empathize with disabled mariners, but as Dave pointed out, peg legs are a bit thin on the ground these days. And it did make Billy laugh.

9. Sometimes autism's surprises are really good ones. For instance, even a naval air museum is fun, exciting and hilarious when viewed through Billy's eyes.

Let's just say that on a really really good day, when I'm in a great mood, I'm faintly ambivalent about naval aviation. The idea of spending an afternoon touring various types of aircraft is likely to send me to my bed with the vapors.

Until I visited one with Billy. He went completely monkey-poop over the National Naval Aviation Museum. He danced around under the giant planes and literally trembled with excitement. He hugged the end of one plane or jet or whatever you call it and said, “I hug you! I love you, big jet!” Then he tried to insist that I close the ceiling bubbly thing over the driver's seat so that “Billy can fly. Billy can FLY!” Dear lord. I don't think so. The sight of an old bi-plane made him fall on the floor in hysterical giggles. Really?!

The museum was free and had an awesome kids play area with a kiddie aircraft carrier, complete with slides (Are there slides on an aircraft carrier? I'd like to think so.) and little helicopter that the kids could sit in. Willow quickly took command of the ship and bossed around children twice her age. I think she has a scary affinity for the military.

So it was a great Spring Break, despite the fact that I never darkened the doors of the spa or the gym and my toes still look like they've been mauled by beavers. As usual, I learned at least as much about myself and what I need to work on as what I learned about Billy. Which brings me to the end of this year's list ...

10. I should really stop making lists.

Who am I kidding? That's never gonna happen.