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.

INT. BILLY'S BEDROOM – MORNING.

It's one of my favorite times of day. The room is dark, and Billy's still warm and snuggly from sleep.

Me: Time to wake up, big guy. Time to get ready for camp.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and whispers to me.

Billy: Mama, how do you feel?

Me: I feel like I love you.

Billy smiles.

Billy: That makes me feel thankful.

My heart bursts and I hug him deeply.

Me: I'm thankful too. I'm thankful for you.

Billy: I am not frustrated.

Me: That's good.

Billy: I am not very shy.

Me: Truer words have never been spoken.

##

The illustration for "Proud."

Billy and Willow love the book, The Way I Feel, written and illustrated by Janan Cain. Both kids have started using words to identify their feelings, a major goal for us this year. A book can't teach these ideas all by itself, but as a visual reinforcement of conversations about these vague concepts of emotions, I think it can be very helpful, particularly to preschoolers and/or those kids with developmental delays. The illustrations in The Way I Feel are engaging and colorful, and the little rhymes do a great job of capturing the essence of feelings such as “jealous,” “shy,” “silly,” “frustrated” or “excited.” I recommend it, if your kids are working on these concepts.

FYI, I bought this book with my own hard-earned cash, and all opinions contained herein are my own, un-sponsored objective perspective. However, had anyone offered to pay me for it, I would have happily taken their money.

Sigh.

This kid NEVER tires of bubbles.

This time last year, I was a crazy person. I didn't realize it, but I was.

I was at home full-time with my four-year-old autistic son and my one-year-old wanna-be Tazmanian Deviless, and I pre-planned every moment of each day in 15-minute intervals. I am not even exaggerating. I wish.

Three weeks into this road map to the nut house, I was actually half-praying to get sick, so that I would have an excuse to go to bed and not sing “5 Little Ducks” again. I was convinced that my children hated me and that my failures amused them.

Things definitely got better once I loosened the reigns a little bit and allowed everyone the occasional half-hour Dora break. But still, I looked on with envy at the parents happily packing their kids off to camp at the science museum or the children's theater or local parks department. Or even those parents that just let their kids spend all day in the back yard without worrying whether they were learning or not. No one had warned them about the dangers of "regression."

FYI, my parents never worried about regression over the summer either. In fact, I can't even remember much about my parents being THERE during the summer. I know they were; somehow we got fed, bathed and put to bed. But summer was spent riding my bike around the neighborhood, playing in backyard forts, digging holes in stuff and generally, avoiding adult intervention at all costs.

Anyway, it's not that "normal" camps wouldn't accept Billy. But in the case of most camps geared toward normally developing children, with staff trained to handle aforementioned normally developing children, I get the impression that they consider the day a success if no one calls 911. As long as everyone's smiling most of the time, job done.

And if I were them, I would feel the same way.

I wanted Billy to continue to learn, at his level, throughout the summer. I wanted him to have the chance to work on those areas we've identified as challenges – social skills, expressive language, emotional control, independent work time – but I also wanted him to enjoy himself. Really enjoy himself.

Rather than Camp Stims-A-Lot where he'd be allowed to wander around aimlessly, lost in his own world, so long as he wasn't hurting anyone, I wanted him to be challenged. At the same time, I wanted him to have the opportunity to engage in those activities in which he really excels.

I don't ask for much.

As it turns out, my extremely high expectations are not impossible to meet.

This year, for the first time, Billy's behavior therapy group, BMC Southeast, launched a special summer program, Camp Escape, for elementary- and middle-school-aged kids. During the first three-week session, their theme is “Planes, Trains, Automobiles and Carriages.” The second session will have a “Legends and Fairy Tales” theme, while the final session, running two weeks is all about “Games and Sports.”

The Camp Escape staff are ABA specialists, with the director, Dr. Dawn Bailey, BCBA-D, being a Billy specialist extraordinaire. So far this week, every day in which I've been there, there has been a 1:1 ratio of staff to kids, and they're committed to never having a greater than 1:3 ratio throughout the summer. Because of this strong staff ratio, each child's day can be tailor-made, to some degree, to fit their individual needs, interests and challenges.

Since Billy started working with the wonderful people at BMC about a year ago, he's made remarkable progress. I'm a firm believer that no single intervention has ever been enough for Billy – he has been blessed with a multi-faceted and committed team of speech, occupational, and behavior therapists – as well as wonderful teachers and aides – but the therapists at BMC have been a part of his school day, as well as his home life. Ms. Elyse, his private therapist, has come to church with us and helped us get a haircut. And every time she and/or Dr. Bailey has been involved in some challenge we've encountered along the spectrum, they offered up ideas and the situation has significantly improved.

A year ago, Billy wasn't potty-trained. His functional language was limited. He would eat about three things. He had a great deal of difficulty transitioning from one activity to another, and he rarely played with other children – or even seemed to care whether they were there or not.

On his second day of camp, he apparently approached a new friend, called him by name, and said, “Come play with me!” When the kid in question didn't immediately jump at the opportunity, Billy guided him over to his newly discovered wonder: Zhu Zhu Pets.

The campers' days have been full of music and dance, outside games, crafts, water play, developmental play – all with an eye toward encouraging social interaction, better communication and the kind of learning that happens when they don't even realize it. As Dr. Bailey said to me at the beginning of the summer, “I don't want this to be Camp Therapy.” And it's not.

That being said, at the end of every day, I get an in-depth one-on-one report from Dr. Bailey about Billy's day, the parts of it he enjoyed most, the moments during which he had challenges and how those challenges were approached/handled. A picture choice chart, for instance, has eliminated aimless wandering during free play time. His use of pronouns, I'm told, has been improving steadily. And today he had a full day that was essentially meltdown-free!

Billy took this trophy to bed with him tonight.

And yesterday, Billy won a trophy for his expertise at “Train, Train, Car” (“Duck, Duck, Goose”). I'm not even sure how one actually wins at “Duck, Duck, Goose,” but the award has joined his Bash and Dash trophy on the mantlepiece nonetheless.

But the greatest reward so far, without a doubt, has been the image of him greeting a new friend with excitement and actually asking him to come play with him. A year ago, I was not sure if that moment would ever come, and if I'd been able to choose one goal for the whole summer, that would have been it. So as far as I'm concerned, this camp has already been TOTALLY worth every penny.

Speaking of our pennies, Camp Escape is $300 per week for a full 8:30 – 3:30 day (after care can be arranged for $75/week.) Session 1 runs June 13 – July 1; Session 2 is July 11 – July 29 and the final session runs August 1 – August 12. They can also arrange half-days, if someone's schedule doesn't permit a full-day program.

The location is at Good Samaritan United Methodist Church and you can find out more at www.bmcsoutheast. There's still room for more campers, if you're in the Tallahassee area, and Billy and I would LOVE to have you join our beautiful little group!

But keep in mind that the competition for “Duck, Duck, Goose” is fierce.

Where ELSE were the neighborhood pigeons going to nest??

1. I started a new WONDERFUL job. And thank goodness I work for my sister, because no one else would have put up with my absenteeism this month. Read on ...

2. I had respiratory flu -- twice. The kids had it once, as did Dave. That sort of counts as me having it five times.

3. I had stomach flu. No one else did.

4. Then I woke up and tried to wash my face with Vick's Vapor Rub.

5. Billy's IEP meeting was awesome. (More on that later.)

6. School ended. Summer started. Which brings us to ...

7. I registered Billy for all-day ABA Camp ... they don't call it “Camp Escape” for nothin'. Come on, Monday!

8. My dad went in the hospital (he's fine now).

9. Our van broke down (it's not).

10. Willow got into at least a dozen fights ... with boys.

11. Billy was named "Terrific Kid" (the good behavior award) at Buck Lake Elementary! And no, Dave, it was not because he was out of school sick the week before ...

12. I turned 40 and Dave and I sang a bunch of 80s songs at my party. (For video of this Awsuuuuuum event, click here.)

This is just my lazy way of making excuses for not blogging very much lately. I'm starting to get act together again, so I won't be such a stranger any more, I promise. But the greatest thing about taking a little hiatus is that now I get to go catch up on all YOUR blogs! Thanks for hanging in there with me ...

I feel soooooooooo old. Yes, I'm turning 40 on Saturday, but it feels like 400. I can't remember what it feels like to sleep 60 straight minutes in a row, because the kids, and then both of us, have been sick for a week and a half now. Willow finally went back to school on Friday, and then this morning, Billy got a better-late-than-never start on his school day.

As usual, he found being sick scary, particularly in the middle of the night. Every time he woke up coughing, he would start screaming and run to our room. “I'm so sick!” he would tell us, and then ask, “Can I feel better?”

In fact, despite his fear and illness, he did an awful lot of very good communicating this week. He woke up Wednesday morning by projecting vomiting all over his bed and then repeating the act on me. “Can I have a towel?” he asked each time.

About the third day of his sickness, Dave pointed out, “You know, I haven't heard any echolalia in the last few days.” Echolalia is the repeating of scripts from TV shows and books or even conversations. Usually, Billy still does a lot of that.

When I went in to ask him if he was ready to get up in the morning, instead of giving me a few angry lines from what he calls Math Frogs Go to the Moon he actually asked me, “Can I wait a little while? Can I rest?” I was as shocked as I would have been if he'd suddenly asked me what mortgage rates were down to these days.

Within a few days, though, it was clear that he was saying almost everything in the form of a question. This from a kid who up until a few months ago, never asked questions. Now it was one question after another:

“Mama, can you leave Willow alone?” (His way of asking me to tell Willow to leave HIM alone.)

“Where is our Maglev?” (His way of showing me a video of the French bullet train on the iPad.)

“Mama, can the earth and moon resemble a double planet system?” (His way of telling me, for the 400^th time, that the Earth and moon resemble a double planet system. Thank you, Moon in Your Room CD!)

He would kill at Jeopardy where you have to answer in the form of a question – if the categories were the following: “Willow leaving me alone,” “YouTube videos of Maglevs,” “The phases of the moon,” and “Willow not touching my iPad.”

By the way, I have never understood the point of Jeopardy's little twist of answering in the form of a question. It's just stupid. I love Jeopardy, but counting it against someone if they don't answer in the form of a question is like having a game of super-nerd Mother May I:

"It's true that Yuzuru Hiraga was the Japanese naval architect noted for work on innovative warships such as the cruiser Yubari and Yamato for the Imperial Japanese Navy, but you didn't say, 'WHO is Yuzuru Hiraga.' You lose."

During his bedridden time the past week, he has also been obsessively watching his new Watch Me Learn DVDs, which model social behavior by depicting kids in a variety of settings playing games, eating together, sharing craft supplies, etc.

When he started feeling better he actually walked over to me at my desk and asked, "Mama, what are you doing?"

ME: I'm playing a stupid computer game. (In my defense, I was sick too.)

BILLY: Mama, can I play a stupid computer game too?

ME: Sure!

So I pulled him up in my lap and showed him how to play Word Whomp, which he was so unimpressed with that he then informed me ...

BILLY: OK, now it's time to clean up!

This morning, Billy finally got so bored with all my fussing over him and dosing him with medicines and checking his temperature, that at about 5 a.m., he posed his Final Jeopardy question to me: “Mama, can you go away?”

He was in my bed at the time. And yep, I left it to him.

When Billy sleeps, we all win.

INT. Master Bedroom. Morning. VERY. EARLY. MORNING.

Despite evidence to the contrary, this is not the aftermath of a natural disaster. It is – or once was – a tastefully decorated master bedroom. Now we can barely make out the outline of a bed beneath the mounds of dirty laundry, bath toys, baby bottles (yes, we allowed Willow a bottle again this week), half-filled sippy cups, wadded up tissues and half-empty bottles of children's Tylenol and Ibuprofen.

Four limp figures sprawl on the king-sized bed: two adults (sort of) and two children. One by one, they cough.

BILLY: Daddy has a cough.

(Billy coughs)

BILLY (cont.): Billy has a cough.

ME: Say, “I have a cough.”

BILLY: Mama has a cough.

ME: No, you have a cough.

(I cough.)

ME: And yes, I have a cough too.

(I take his hand and pat his own chest with it.)

ME: “I have a cough ...” (I use his hand to point at Dave.) He has a cough. (Point at me.) You have a cough. (point at Willow) She has a cough.”

DAVE: I just love these little family learning moments.

CLOSE ON

ME as I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously and swig directly from my personal bottle of Tylenol cold medicine.

WILLOW: (clinks the medicine bottle with her bottle) Cheers!

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.

This isn't actually a move from the Young Athlete's program. This is just something he was doing to entertain himself between events.

On Friday, Billy participated in a demonstration, with his classmates, of what he's been working on in the Young Athletes program at school.

Because qualifying kids can't join the Special Olympics until the age of seven, Young Athletes was started by the organization to teach sports skills to younger kids. Billy's school is the only one in our county where the program exists (it requires quite a commitment from the already-time-strapped staff), and we were delighted when it was announced earlier this year.

The best thing about the Young Athletes program is that it's inclusive of all kids. Neurotypical kids are Young Athletes too; in many ways, such as turn-taking, they might act as role models and mentors. In many skills, though, they're learning right alongside their pals with special needs. This wonderful program proves that an inclusion sports program, particularly for younger kids, is not only possible but a huge asset to the school and the kids involved.

Together, these hard-working athletes practice the basics of any sport: turn-taking, following multi-part instructions, working together on a team. They also develop specific skills like hitting and kicking balls, running and jumping on command, completing an obstacle course, etc.

Ms. Laurie, Billy's Young Athletes coach, told us that “At the start of the program, none of the kids could hit a ball off the tee,” but as they demonstrated on Friday, now they all can!

By the time they're seven, some of the kids in the program will have outgrown their developmentally disabled label; some will choose to move on to the Special Olympics. But all the kids will carry with them the important lessons they've learned about teamwork and the joy of sharing the athletic field with friends of all different developmental abilities.

It was inspiring to watch these kids. I felt a surge of pride as each one of them completed the obstacle course and such gratitude to the wonderful teachers and aides who made it possible. I strongly encourage you to ask about the Young Athletes program if you have a child under 7, and to volunteer with the Special Olympics, if possible, in your area.

To find out more about the Special Olympics and the Young Athletes program, CLICK HERE.

The Young Athletes and mentors march in, carrying their toilet-paper-roll torches with solemn ceremony.

Billy learns to catch a ball dropped from above, thanks to Coach Laurie!

Willow dressed for the Mommy and Me Tea

Thanks to the clever musings of my super-talented Southern MOMentum writer-friend, Stephanie Armstrong, I can take the rest of the weekend off. She's given me a great post that I'm sure you'll enjoy; consider it my Mother's Day gift to you, if you're a mom, and some very good advice if you are married to a mom.

I am sort of working today: I'm guest-blogging over at TheWorksofGodDisplayed.com, a wonderful blog dedicated to special needs ministry in churches, so if you'd like to read about my experience with "angels," give that one a look.

In the meantime, please forward the following to everyone in your family, but particularly your kids' father ...

10 Things To Avoid On Mother's Day

by Stephanie Armstrong of Southern MOMentum

This is what Willow did when the teacher asked the group, "Who has the best mommy!" FYI, that *is* me she's running to.

If there is one thing I have learned about being a mom, it’s not about what you receive on this, *ahem* … magical day. It’s about what to avoid. I thought I would rival our very own The Life of Dad daddy blogger with a follow up from his Things to Avoid on Fathers Day. Let’s just call it a subtle wish list of our own …

Number 1: The term “Go ask your mom.” We’ve got it covered the other 364 days. Today is all you.

Number 2: Any mentions of Halle Berry’s figure or Jessica Biel’s abs. You may have forgotten. I am not your college roommate.

Number 3: Conversations starting with “So what did you do all day…?” You may not live to see Father’s Day.

Number 4: Anything on TV that involves World War II or the letters E.S.P.N.

Number 5: Bodily fluids of any kind. This includes the daily deposit from the cat.

Number 6: Attempts of escaping (alone) to Home Depot or the golf course. Not happenin’.

Number 7: Having to wear anything made from silk or scratchy lace. Newsflash: We like cotton.

Number 8: Any contact with wadded-up, inside-out socks or the mountain they lie in.

Number 9: High fives or any conversation involving the Panther’s #1 draft pick. (see rule #4)

Number 10: Any mention of NOT spending money. You want to put a permanent smile on our faces? Hand over the Visa.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

“What do elevators, beloved character actor Wilford Brimley, mall maps, flashing yellow traffic lights, the Weather Channel and Allstate commercials have in common?” Griffin's Big Daddy asks. Then he goes on to answer this intriguing question in the pages of his hilarious new memoir, Big Daddy's Tales, From the Lighter Side of Raising a Kid with Autism.

Buy this book! Billy's in it!

F. Lewis Stark (a pen name) is well-known to those of us in the autism community as the popular blogger at BigDaddyAutism.com where he talks about his funny and fascinating life as parent to an autistic son. He also co-hosts the (Weekly? Monthly? How often does this show come on?) radio show "AutismWTF" with fellow autism parent/blogger Lynn Hydoba of AutismArmyMom.com.

Big Daddy's Tales include many memorable, gut-bustingly hilarious anecdotes about the world viewed through the eyes of his adored and adorable son. He also includes many of his Griffin cartoons – which really should get him his own show on the Cartoon Network or Comedy Central (I defy anyone to read “The Farting Continues” without laughing so hard they fall out of their chair).

But this is not a book that puts a shiny fake smiley face on autism. It's not a politically correct book. It is an honest book from a parent who openly shares the fact that his son's autism diagnosis felt, at first, like being smashed in the face by a frying pan. Big Daddy's Tales, though, are proof that you can get smashed in the face by a frying pan and still not forget how to laugh.

Nestled within the anecdotes of the Big Daddy clan are also stories from other parents of kids on the spectrum. Lynn writes an introduction to the book as well as a chapter; other chapters feature stories from bloggers from Stimeyland.com, TheKingAndEye.com, LifeWithASeverelyDisabledChild, LittleBitQuirky, AnybodyWantAPeanut?, LifeInTheHouseThatAspergerBuilt, ChipandBobo, YeahGoodTimes, LivingWithLogan, StuartDuncan, and yep, yours truly. Big Daddy included my Billy musings in the chapter titled, “You're on the Spectrum, Charlie Brown!”

If Life is a Spectrum, this book is the most honest, colorful, funny and touching picture of that wide spectrum I've read – and I have read a LOT of books about autism. A. LOT.

Big Daddy says it best in his epilogue: “If you allow it to be, the world can seem full of sorrows and negativity. We chose to live in joy.”

Order a copy of Big Daddy's Tales by clicking on the button at the right, which will take you to the author's store.