Ben's therapist came downstairs to get him yesterday afternoon while Ben was still enjoying his snack. "Ben, are you finished with snack?" she asked. "Nih", Ben replied quick as a wink while shaking his head. Language may be slow in coming with Ben, but make no mistake, it IS coming. He just verbally answered a question. cool.

Finding Nemo Again and Again!

Since the beginning of the summer Ben has been obsessed with Finding Nemo, in all respects. He's content to watch the movie as many times as you'll let him, and when he's not watching it, he's looking at the book - DK's The Essential Finding Nemo Guide - that I managed to snag from the used part of Amazon.com. His ABA therapists use Finding Nemo on the ipad as his reinforcement and he willingly works for it. During church, he looks at his Nemo book. On the Metro ride that we took yesterday he did the same thing before, during and after the ride. At restaurants, he watches Finding Nemo on my ipod Nano while waiting for our food. Any time that I anticipate a tantrum, Nemo comes with us in some form. I'm a little worried about what will happen when he gets tired of Nemo, but boy, we're sure going to use it while it lasts. Thank goodness for Disney.

A Poem

Riding On The Back of Denial by Kristin Hadley Schmoldt

It weaves into our minds and makes itself a cozy home
when we end our search for answers that aren’t there
it takes something like a tart word from someone who thinks they know better
to loosen the hold it has over us once it sets in
the day therapist number two said to me it wouldn’t be that hard
if I’d just accept the fact that my three year old will never be a doctor or a lawyer
but will probably go on to have a perfectly good job
cleaning football stadiums or bagging groceries
lowered expectations were the key and they were a lot of fine jobs
that could be done by the autistically inclined.
But he was building towers out of blocks and scribbling on paper
and loving the letter W and the number eight
and figuring out how doorknobs worked when he was just a baby
all that is still in his head isn’t it, because if it isn’t
where did it go?
She sighed and clearly did not want to agitate me
perhaps she said but most of the time
it never comes back
but he was different than the other children they talked about on the internet
he didn’t fit the checklist
different because he did talk once here and there
sometimes, if I tried hard enough
I could get some of it back even if it was just one peek a boo or one x-y-z
if he was like they said, why did he still smile at me and give me kisses?
How can he be one of them if he does all that?
One day he would go to school with the regular kids in a regular class
I told them all confidently when he was three
this was just a bump in the road
a small matter that would clear up with age
and they smiled indulgently and nodded in agreement
it might not be as serious as others had made it out to be
he was clearly a smart boy and would catch up soon
when he turned four they looked around the room at each other
no one wanting to be that bearer of bad news
and then at five they shook their heads and said
he just hadn’t made the progress they had hoped for.
It wasn’t until the day we brought our loud happy son into the lobby
of Whole Foods and some old lady
old enough by now to know better
said
RETARDED KID
as she walked past us
and I thought
is that what he’s become to the rest of the world?
Why didn’t I know?

Ben 5/31/10

Ben runs around outside as I write this, stomping across the deck and jumping on the trampoline. He insists on being bearfoot if at all possible, and even though I know there is a chance of splinters, I feel is cruel and inhumane to make him wear his usual socks and high-tops combo on this very warm Memorial Day. I have nothing new or earthshaking to report. Ben is healthy and for the most part, temporarily happy. He had some gluten this weekend and we are paying for it in numerous ways, but we knew it was probably going to be the case. Case in point- a 3:30 am wake up from which he never went back to sleep, and neither did I more or less. But lest you think I am complaining, I'm just thankful that he isn't crying, or in that crazy-silly-I'm-going-to-really-annoy-you-on-purpose mode. May all those for whom Memorial Day honors be remembered for their sacrifices.

New Year New Me Same Ben

I find the whole BLOG thing a bit perplexing. I really want to keep you up to date. I want to wax poetic on the progress Ben has been making. And he has, but he hasn't. There are a lot of good things going on with Ben, and a lot that has stayed the same or worsened. I find it difficult to write about him honestly and not worry about who might suddenly become concerned about us (we're okay), or who will have a bad day after reading my latest post. I feel that I don't have anything positive to share with the internet world. I wish I was one of those blogs that could chronicle my son's slow but sure recovery from autism. But it's not happening. That was my intent when I first started this blog over FOUR years ago, back when blogs were young and everyone on the block didn't have one. Instead, I've decided to write for myself for now. I'm going to start a memoir. I'm NOT promising anything, so don't ask to read it anytime soon. I've decided that if I want to be truly honest about my feelings, my worries, and my frustrations, I'm going to have to go solo for a while. I have a lot of things I want to say and I'll let you know when I'm done. Adios for now, muchachos.

I'm thankful for . . .

1. My family. Not everyone has a great family. I'm lucky I do.
2. My kids.
3. Ben's therapists and teachers. He is getting more here than he ever has and I don't take that for granted.
4. The Air Force. In a time of high unemployment, I don't have to worry about Rob losing his job.
5. Food. I never have to worry about having enough to eat.
6. Books. I never have to worry about being bored. New ones are always coming out.
7. The library. I don't have worry about running out of #6.
8. Yarn. I have a lot of it. I love it. It makes me happy.
9. That I have a wonderful husband who cooks me breakfast on Thanksgiving.
10. My house. It may be mouse-infested and drafty, but I'm not out in the cold.

I could go on a lot longer, but you get the idea.

Fox Video . . . again!