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!

In the studio with the BLES Bobcat news team and art contest winners!

After our Disney bullying experience at the beginning of this year, I thought, “What kind of message are our kids receiving about autism?”

I wanted to make sure that we started the conversation locally as early as possible. I wanted to get ahead of the message, because while Billy's current four- and five-year-old classmates at Buck Lake Elementary School are the best and most beautiful people on the face of the planet (I really believe this), even great kids can turn into Mean Girls. And one day, he's going to that scary place known as middle school.

So, with the sponsorship support of my amazing sister, Samantha Strickland of Pea Green Solutions, I sponsored a poster contest at Billy's elementary school. The rules were very simple: Just do an Autism Awareness Month poster. Talk about how being different is ok and good. Use my blog title in it for extra credit.

About 40 fourth- and fifth-graders participated, and I got the posters back a couple of days ago.

I just boo-hooed as I went through them in my kitchen. I actually felt ashamed for adults and our utter inability to get it. Adults have to try to love the whole world and kids just do it so naturally. What happens to us?

While I already knew that Billy's teacher, his classroom aides, his school therapists and his wonderful principal have the most beautiful hearts, I was floored by the thoughtful and understanding way these young artists approached the idea of autism awareness. With the principal and art teacher's help, we narrowed down the big pile to 11 of our favorites (I couldn't eliminate one and make it and even top 10). You can see all 11 finalists at the LifeIsASpectrum.com Facebook page.

Then our panel of celebrity judges weighed in. And what a great panel we had: co-sponsor of the contest Samantha Strickland, CEO of Pea Green Solutions; Mark Marsiglio, CEO of ThinkCreative Advertising; Rosanne Dunkelberger, editor of Tallahassee Magazine; pop artist Jules Burt; and Jeanette Dummer, assistant director of the Florida State University Honors Program.

Today, we awarded the prizes for the top 5 posters during the Buck Lake Bobcat Morning News (side note: I was totally blown away by how professionally these elementary school students can produce, shoot and anchor a morning talk show -- they could teach the pros a few things).

We had three third place prize winners who each received a $10 cash prize:

3rd place: Joseph R. Joseph R's incredible pencil drawing illustrates individual uniqueness through a cityscape of intricately drawn buildings.

I like the way Odessa D. created faces out of puzzle pieces and mixed media including pencils, pastels and puffy paint.

Striking, simple and effective, Claire H's colorful butterfly is a beautiful metaphor for autism.

Next, came our second prize winners, because Chloe B. and Natalie B. chose to work together on this beautiful design, while incorporates colored pencil and 3-D fabric elements. The artists share the $25 second prize for this beautiful poster:

And finally our first prize winner! The talented Lauren S. clearly "gets it," because in the words of one judge, "I like the suggestion of not just what to do but HOW to do it!" I also love the way a couple of the kids are wearing Life is a Spectrum T-shirts. GREAT idea, Lauren :-) Lauren received a $50 cash prize and FOUR TICKETS TO DISNEY WORLD!!

Thank you to all the young artists, esteemed judges, phenomenal teachers, the wonderful principal Sands and my tireless, creative and supportive sister Sam (did I mention that you should hire Pea Green Solutions for all your marketing needs???) without whom I truly would not have made it through this month.

You have all made this April a very special time for me and my family.

Sadly, the train broke down halfway around the baseball field.

This past Saturday was the Bash and Dash at Billy's school, the annual fundraiser for the school. (Let's save for another day discussion of the topic of WHY a public school finds itself in a position of having to hold multiple fundraisers.)

Bash and Dash was great: well-organized, fun, and amazingly well-attended. There were pony rides and train rides and bounce houses and carnival games. That's the "Bash" part of the day.

But we started with the "Dash." There was a race for each age group, including pre-Kindergarten, Billy's group.

We had been practicing "racing" for weeks. I'd shout, "Ready, set, GO!" in the back yard and we'd run from one fence to the other. During his ABA therapy, Billy would race Ms. Elyse, I would race Billy; sometimes Ms. Elyse and I would race each other. We talked non-stop about the race.

I still wasn't sure how it was going to work out. Despite all our rehearsal, whenever he hears "Go!" Billy is just as likely to run towards the closest available toy as he is to run towards the finish line. As usual, I debated with myself: about whether introducing him to the idea of competition at this stage was even healthy; about whether the crowds would upset him; about whether he might actually fall and get hurt.

I was ready to pull out of the whole thing. Then I got a package in the mail.

When I opened it, I pulled out a trophy. It was about 18 inches tall and engraved like this:

My mom and dad.

I called them, and sure enough, my mom owned up. "I wanted Billy to know," she said, "that no matter what, he's a winner."

And she was right. Plus, I couldn't back out now that they had invested in what Billy lovingly referred to as "The Statue of Liberty."

Race day dawned bright and beautiful, and we arrived at the starting line with several minutes to spare. Several of Billy's friends turned up, including one beautiful girl who marched right up to him and grabbed his hand in hers, as though she sensed he needed a little reassurance.

As we had practiced, Dave stood with Billy at the starting line, and Willow and I went to the finish. When a volunteer tried to move me out of the way, I explained that my autistic son was planning to run toward me, and if I wasn't standing there, he was very likely to head for that little circle of unattended ponies (the pony rides hadn't started yet). I was allowed to stay.

The boys lined up (girls raced separately). When their little legs started pumping, I couldn't believe how excited I was. I was screaming and crying and shouting for Billy.

Even from a distance, I could see he was beaming with happiness. He was looking from side to side at the crowds lining the race path. Crowds. That was something we hadn't worked into rehearsal.

Billy's in the red shirt!

Rather than run flat-out, he kind of loped along, half-galloping, watching the other kids run in front of him. He likes to chase.

They all crossed the finish line in front of him and I could see Billy laughing with joy. He was happy for them. And he was inches from the finish line.

And then he turned around and headed the other direction.

He was out there on his own, the race was over for everyone else, and he was running the wrong way. I started shouting for him: "Billy, this way! Come this way, baby!"

At that moment, I just wanted him to finish. The other racers in his group were already getting their trophies and medals, and the older kids were already lining up for the next race, but I so wanted Billy to cross that finish line.

No one raised an eyebrow when Billy got the biggest trophy.

Then something beautiful happened. Everyone started joining in. On both sides of the race path, kids and adults were shouting, "Come on, Billy! This way!" And waving him toward the finish line.

Laughing, he turned around. He saw me and Willow. And he started running toward us. As he crossed the finish line and leaped into my arms, there were cheers all around us.

Of course, everyone was proud of the kids who ran the fastest. I would never want to take away from their winning moments.

But at the moment Billy crossed that finish line, we all felt like winners.

Ok, I'm taking care of pukey kids today, so I leave you with the photo below. Give me your best caption ideas, and the winner (chosen by Willow) will win a brand-new (I promise, it hasn't been watched even once by my kids) special edition of How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the cartoon, not the one with Jim Carey) still in its shrink wrap.

This is a shot of me and Willow from Billy's Thanksgiving lunch at school. And yes, that is a giant trash can right next to our table.

Just post your caption ideas below, and Willow will choose the winner by Monday. (Disclaimer: Baby cannot read and may be assisted by mother.)

Today the SITS Girls are writing about being haunted by the ghosts of Halloween past. I'll admit it, I approached this Halloween haunted. By low expectations. By the memory of everything we did wrong last year with our overwhelmed and exhausted autistic child. And the year before that. Haunted by the disappointment I felt when my handsome astronaut collapsed in the living room floor, screaming for us to remove his costume, claiming to be "Itchy! Hot! Hurchy!" and any number of other negative adjectives that might or might not be recognized words in the English language.

Instead of trick-or-treating, we did this for 45 minutes on October 31, 2009:

October 2009: Epic Halloween Fail

But my, oh my, what a difference a year can make:

October 2010: Look who's wearing a HAT!

Last year, we didn't even attempt the cute NASA hat, because Billy couldn't bear to have his head touched. This year, he takes great pleasure in "Vogue-ing" in front of the mirror in his costume and hat.

He wore his costume for HOURS at the pre-K school Halloween party on Friday, while I stood back, practically agog at the unexpected success. He painted pumpkins, climbed inside the scary glow-in-the-dark cave for a Halloween story, completed two different fall crafts and even put his fingers (ever so briefly) into the unknown jar of yucky "guts" (pumpkin entrails).

Granted, he spent a good deal of time on the pre-K play porch dancing with a washcloth, but he was having a great time, and it was actually kind of an interesting dance.

Billy invents Washcloth Dancing.	Painting pumpkins	The meditating astronaut
Boo! Gotcha!	My happy astronaut	And he's off!

This Halloween, his new favorite thing is to say "Boo!" and surprise me, as you can see in the photo sequence above.

He has no idea how surprised I am.

I think Billy got his first love-note yesterday. I was unpacking his backpack and found a folded up piece of notebook paper. Unfolded, it read “TO BIRLYI” in pencil, followed by a heart and a whole bunch of Dora stickers.

Hands off, girls!

I had had one of those “dark nights of the soul” the night before, tossing and turning and waking up at 3 a.m. with the thought, He may never go on a date. He may never go to prom. He may never find someone who will love him and marry him and have a family with him...

And then literally the following morning, I found the love note. It was like a sign. I brought it up to Dave and he (who walks Billy to school every morning) said, “Could be any one of them. He's a rock star in that class. As soon as he walks in the door, they're all, 'Billy! Billy! Billy's here!'”

Billy, of course, is oblivious to his fans, more concerned about getting a clear path to the water fountain and spending some quality time with the dry-erase board and markers – his morning routine. (We had an unfortunate incident one morning when another child decided to park himself in front of the water fountain, which led to a discussion of polite ways to ask someone to move.)

Then I realized that most of Billy's autism challenges would in no way limit his ability to get girls in high school: He has no desire to please people. He makes limited eye contact in social situations. He can't sit still in class and misbehaves. He gets surly if you try to talk to him about anything serious. Come to think of it, most of my high school crushes could have been autistic and I probably wouldn't have noticed.

True, Billy talks non-stop about whatever interests him, regardless of whether you care in the slightest. But if he gets fixated on the guitar or sports or motorcycles (god forbid), then he'll pretty much be crack for high school girls.

I tracked down some of my latest fears to the fact that Billy's been fixating on the Dr. Seuss book Oh the Places You Will Go again. Specifically, he's been echo-ing the line, “Alone, I'm afraid, is something you'll be quite a lot.” He doesn't seem all that bothered by the line. He just brings it up again and again, like he's thinking about it. Sometimes he does that when he's trying to work something out.

It breaks my heart. I immediately grab him up and say, “You'll never be alone. Mama will always always always be with you.” Then he inevitably gives me this startled look like, “Oh, great. Yeah, THAT sounds like fun.”

He's got a lot going for him. He's absolutely gorgeous with beautiful big blue eyes that literally stop people in the streets. He's funny and loves to make people laugh and to laugh himself. He's talented musically and very smart.

And then I realize that of course he can find someone to love who will love him back. Of course, there will be someone out there that realizes how special he is, someone who's willing to help fill in the gaps where he has difficulties and appreciate all the amazing unique gifts he has. After all, isn't that what we all hope that real love will turn out to be?

Apparently, there's one little girl in pre-K who already recognizes quality when she sees it. The little hussy ...

Billy has been walking around this week, reciting the same line from “It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” over and over.

It's the scene where Lucy tries to get Charlie Brown, once again, to kick the football she's holding. She promises him that she means it this time, that she won't pull the ball away at the last minute. In fact, she even has a contract to that effect, which she shows him.

Of course, at the last minute, she pulls the ball away and Charlie Brown goes flying. “Curious thing about this document,” Lucy says. “It was never notarized.” That's the line that, for some reason, Billy can't get out of his head.

This got me thinking about a couple of things. First of all, the kids in Charlie Brown cartoons are really mean and terrible role models.

Secondly, I thought, OK, Bucko, if you're interested in contracts, let's make one for the summer. We have nearly three months at home ahead of us, me and you and Willow, and we need to establish some ground rules. So here goes ...

My SUMMER CONTRACT WITH BILLY

The house rule “Please don't poke Mama in the eyes” still stands. But let's agree not to share it repeatedly with guests or people at church. I'll take my chances with them.

I promise to keep your baby sister away from your train table if you promise not to sit on her. For long.

If you will nap for two hours every afternoon, I will buy you a car.

If a thunderstorm scares you, you can crawl into my bed with me and we'll watch cartoons the rest of the day.

If you force me to watch “The Great Pumpkin” more than five times in a row, I am entitled to throw the television out the window. Upstairs.

In the event that it rains three consecutive days in a row and you are unable to go outside, I reserve the right to call in the babysitter, lock the door of the playroom from the outside and drink heavily in my bedroom. You may paint anything within arm's length, including the aforementioned babysitter, until the sun comes out.

I promise not to loudly ask, “Have you done a poo-poo?” in public any more – after all, you'll be four next month – if you promise not to loudly proclaim “Chugga-chugga POOOOO-POOOOO!” in the library. (For supporting documentation, refer to the book “The Potty Train.”)

On the day you poop in the potty, I will sign the house over to you.

If you stumble and fall, I will be there to pick you up every single time, kiss it better, and immdiately apply a “Bang-aid” if required. In return, you promise not to seal your sister's eyes shut with Bang-aids.

At 5:30 each and every weekday, I transfer power of attorney over to your father. Any and all requests for juice, fixing of broken toys or watching of the “Great Pumpkin” must go through him until such time as I emerge from a hot bath with my game face on again.

I will throw you the birthday party of your dreams this year and every year ... if you promise not to grow up too fast.

If you will hold my hand this summer and put up with me, I'll hold yours and find joy in each and every day we share together.

Please sign at the left if you agree.

Backjack Chair

"Circle Time" each morning at Pre-K, when everyone sits on the floor and listens to the teacher, was proving a challenge for Billy last fall. He found it tough, apparently, to remain on his carpet square or even identify which square was his. Our speech therapist recommended the BackJack chair to help him clearly define his space. The Backjack Chair essentially provides a back for sitting on the floor. And he's done much better in his group since he started using it.

I didn't expect how much I would like the Backjack chair. I spend a lot of time on the floor of the kids' playroom, and having a bad back, that can get uncomfortable after a while. The Backjack chair lets me comfortably sit on their level for storytime, playing with the Little People or building with blocks. Also, it's very lightweight, and you can fold it up easily and take it to picnics, sporting events or any other place where you might be expected to plant your bum on the ground for a long period of time. It's SUPER-comfortable.

Aerogrow Indoor Garden

I love to grow things. I've been chomping at the bit to get out in our new yard and start digging in the soil, but this winter has been gruesome. I realize that this will seem laughable to my friends in Wisconsin and Minnesota, but I'm in Florida. I'm supposed to be picnicking by now, not building wood fires. It has certainly been too cold to get any planting or yard work started. But the mini "aeroponic" garden that my mom got me for Christmas a few years ago is a great way to satisfy my urge to see things greenify, as well as teach the kids about where food comes from.

Aeroponic means that the plants grow in air and water; no soil is required. You don't have to have any real gardening skill; anyone can grow herbs, salad greens, tomatoes, chili peppers or petunias (those are some of the plants for which they have kits at the moment). You just plug it in and follow simple directions. Little seed pods slot down into the holes under the unit's light. Water is added to the well underneath the seed pods. And that's pretty much it. Billy loves to check out the progress of the plants each day, and I think it will make him more interested in planting things outdoors soon.

The Audible.com recording of Stephen King's The Dome

I love Stephen King and I love Audible.com. I can listen to a 1000-page novel while I wash dishes, vaccum, take Willow for a walk, or retrieve Thomas the Trains friends from the garbage disposal. Before I found Audible, it had been months since I read a novel.

The Dome is, I think, the best thing Stephen King has written since The Stand. The premise is simple: An invisible dome mysteriously appears over a small Maine town. There is no way for people inside the dome to get out, and there's no way for the outside world to get in to help them. Once you accept that one supernatural premise, everything else that happens is completely natural: the loss of electrical power and the shortage of resources, the divisions within the town, the grabs for and abuses of power, the increasing desperation.

Growing up in a small town that bears a strong resemblance to the ficitonal Chester's Mill -- despite their geographic distance from one another -- I recognize both the heroes and villains in this story. And the more I "read" (or heard), the more anxious and tense I got -- the sign of a really good page turner. Even if the "pages" are indicated only by when the reader takes a deep breath.

Yo-Baby
Our pediatrician recommended Yo-Baby organic yogurt the last time Willow had a really bad stomach flu. Apparently, it helps regulate their little digestive systems. Willow loves it, particularly the kind with fruit and cereal puree in the bottom. She won't eat any other baby food; she would rather eat our food, whatever it is: avocado, tomatoes, you name it. The only problem with Yo-Baby is that I can't always find it in the grocery store. Walmart didn't carry it the last time I was there. And Publix seems to put it in a different place in each store, usually in the Greenwise organic section. Our favorite flavor: raspberry banana.

Coffee
Give me a super-big cup of regular old Maxwell House Breakfast Blend and I can deal with just about any amount of sleep deprivation. No fancy coffees for me. Don't put ice in my coffee or whipped cream or cinnamon on top. I don't want my coffee to taste like Christmas or flowers or cough drops. Just throw a little creamer in there with some sugar and I'm good to go. Most of the time, I don't even use sugar; I use these sweetener packets I bought at the Dollar Tree that have probably been made from the ground-up fingernails of Chinese children, but they do the trick.