...if we didn't have a diagnosis.
Him: Mama! I want to play with Rachel!
Me: Well, how about you ask Rachel then.
Him: Oh!
Him: Rachel! Can I play with you?
Her: [happy voice] Sure!
Him: [sad voice] Mama! Rachel didn't say "Yes"
Me: "Sure" means the same thing as "Yes"
Him: [happy voice] Oh!
Me: *facepalm*
And one more piece of knowledge is added to the store of wisdom.
Saturday, 22 September 2012
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Big
It's the time of the year for Bigness. Becoming Big, talking about being Big, complaining bitterly about being Big...
Oh, that last one? Yes, that's a little unusual isn't it.
The Taller Girl became Big a couple of weeks ago. Nine, to be precise. (that's half way to an adult! gah! How did that happen and how do I stop it! But I digress...) She was thrilled. She had a big party, and there were snakes (yes, snakes) and a pinata and everyone had a wonderful time.
The Smaller Girl is going to be Big in a couple of weeks. She'll be seven. She was wild about giving out party invites, and dressed up as a postman to do so. I'm saving up for her the news that it's going to be legal for her to sit in the front seat, because if I tell her ahead of time I'll never hear the end of it (front seat! front seat! How many days to my birthday. How many HOURS is that?)
A week after that, the Small Boy will be Big. He'll be five. And he Does Not Want.
Four is his number. Four is a GOOD number. Five is not a good number. He's not going to be five, he's going to stay four. He's also never going to have to stop wearing his blue boots and switch to the next-size-up blue boots, because he's certainly not getting any bigger. Also they are inferior because they have Bob the Builder on them rather than a smudged cracked lump that used to be a Banana in Pyjamas about a million years ago. Also they are inferior because they are new, and new is BAD.
The triangle mirror at the museum has been behaving very suspiciously recently as well. It's started shrinking so that he can no longer quite stand up in it, but has to tip his head over a little. This is definitely nothing to do with him getting any bigger, because he's not ever going to get bigger, he's going to stay four FOREVER!
You can repeat a year of school. Sadly, you can't repeat a year of childhood. Although I'm sure he'd love to.
Oh, that last one? Yes, that's a little unusual isn't it.
The Taller Girl became Big a couple of weeks ago. Nine, to be precise. (that's half way to an adult! gah! How did that happen and how do I stop it! But I digress...) She was thrilled. She had a big party, and there were snakes (yes, snakes) and a pinata and everyone had a wonderful time.
The Smaller Girl is going to be Big in a couple of weeks. She'll be seven. She was wild about giving out party invites, and dressed up as a postman to do so. I'm saving up for her the news that it's going to be legal for her to sit in the front seat, because if I tell her ahead of time I'll never hear the end of it (front seat! front seat! How many days to my birthday. How many HOURS is that?)
A week after that, the Small Boy will be Big. He'll be five. And he Does Not Want.
Four is his number. Four is a GOOD number. Five is not a good number. He's not going to be five, he's going to stay four. He's also never going to have to stop wearing his blue boots and switch to the next-size-up blue boots, because he's certainly not getting any bigger. Also they are inferior because they have Bob the Builder on them rather than a smudged cracked lump that used to be a Banana in Pyjamas about a million years ago. Also they are inferior because they are new, and new is BAD.
The triangle mirror at the museum has been behaving very suspiciously recently as well. It's started shrinking so that he can no longer quite stand up in it, but has to tip his head over a little. This is definitely nothing to do with him getting any bigger, because he's not ever going to get bigger, he's going to stay four FOREVER!
You can repeat a year of school. Sadly, you can't repeat a year of childhood. Although I'm sure he'd love to.
Sunday, 22 April 2012
Baked Bear - a cautionary tale
Christopher Robin has Winnie-the Pooh
Calvin has Hobbes
And the Small Boy has Bear. Also, the Taller Girl has Doggie, and the Smaller Girl has Sheepie. We're a big family of inventive namers round here.
Bear came into the Small Boy's life at his birth. Of a number of zeroth birthday presents, Bear was selected by the Taller Girl to be her brother's special companion. She used to put Bear in his cot every night when he was tiny. And soon enough, it took, and Bear became a constant nighttime companion.
As well as a tendency to obvious names, my children also share some other characteristics. One of them is a fascination with Putting Things In Things. Doggie, Sheepie and Bear have all gone through this phase. They're taken round the house to "play" and part of this play involves being put in a random drawer and left there. Or in the tree. Or behind the couch. Places that Bear has been found include:
The laundry basket
The grill
Caravan at Granny's house (top locker)
Inside the arm of an armchair
Inside the doona cover
Cardboard box on the front verandah
Basically, anywhere where there's at least 1000 cubic centimetres of space is a place that Bear might be found. That's about the size of a 1 litre milk bottle. That's not very big.
So it can be imagined that when it comes time for bed, we're pretty much over looking in every nook and cranny to find if this is the 10x10x10 space Bear has been shoved into this time. Fortunately, these days His Shortness has a number of other bedtime friends, so if Bear is not immediately visible it's not a tragedy to go a couple of days before retrieving him. Even better, the Small Boy has now developed to the stage where he can actually remember where he put things, and go and retrieve Bear by himself.
So when the girls were packing their friends to go to Granny's for a visit and the Small Boy decided that he too needed his Bear, I was happy when he said "I know where Bear is." And I followed him outside and...
Track back a day or two. All Small Folks happily playing outside, riding their bikes, climbing on things. And I noticed a Small Boy round the side of the house on top of the central heating unit.
"Down!" I said "Not for climbing. Feet down. Stay off." And he did.
What I strangely, inexplicably failed to mention was "And also, do not shove Bear in the outlet vent of the heating unit and LEAVE him there for two days"
!
!!
*headsmack*
So, first thing - I'm thankful that this story didn't end with the house burning down around our ears. Fortunately, the outlet vent is quite large, and Bear was only on the edge of it. He got off fairly lightly with a singed and crisped head, and one foot has become a hard fused lump. Basically, he's been turned into crispy Bear Toast, but only very lightly toasted. He has also been comprehensively rejected by his owner (though there are signs in the last day or so that this may be changing). We were accompanied down to Granny's by a stuffed black cat which was adopted as a substitute.
Secondly - we still have a Learning From Experience deficit in these parts. Because a couple of days ago he was looking at Bear meditatively. "I know a good place for Bear." And he picks up Bear, and trots outside, and round the corner, and...
The rule against Bears in places that Make Them Crispy has now been made extremely explicit.
Saturday, 17 December 2011
Mindreading.
Mindreading. One word, no space. Not referring to David Copperfield style parlour tricks - I'm back to thinking about theory of mind, understanding emotions, understanding people, all that jazz. I'm exploring the Small Boy's interpersonal side. In the Autism research community , "mindreading" - one word - is the buzzword that describes all that - the ability to work out through your eyes and ears what's going on inside somebody else's head. Particularly, their emotions.
One of the most effective weapons in our armoury at the moment is Thomas the Tank Engine. The Small Boy loves Thomas. Well, no surprise there - he is, after all, a Small Boy.
I love Thomas too but for a different reason. I love him for the faces. Clear, round, single colour - perfect for thinking about expressions.
"Look. There goes Thomas going along the track. What sort of a face has he got on? Happy face? Yes, I think that's a happy face. Thomas likes going on his tracks. Uh-oh. There's a cow on the line. Beep beep! She's not getting out of the way. What sort of a face has Thomas got now? Look at those lines on his forhead. Those are grumpy lines. I think Thomas has got a grumpy face on. He doesn't like having a cow in the way."
Thomas gets us happy face, sad face, surprised face and grumpy face, so far. I'm looking for more. I think we can probably get in bored face, excited face - maybe scared face (do trains ever get scared?) before we've exhausted the emotional range of Thomas the Tank Engine. After that, I'll be looking for some good boy-friendly books that do body language. Not much of that in Thomas.
We go to Social Skills group every week at the moment. The Speech Therapists in charge report that the Small Boy has a limited range of emotions he understands - happy, sad, anything beyond that is "funny face". But I'm not so sure. Where it counts - understanding emotions in context - he's way ahead of that. Witness the following dinnertime scene...
The chief protagonists - one Small Girl. One grumpy, wriggly, squirmy, whiny Small Girl. And one Daddy. I forget what her issue was, TBH. I do recall she was pushing the parental buttons for all she was worth. And the viscious spiral escalated.
SG: Squirm squirm squirm
D: Instruct Small Girl to Sit Up With Legs Forward.
SG: Whine. Squirm in the other direction
D: Instruct Small Girl to SIT UP NOW and EAT FOOD.
SG: Whine more. Listlessly pick up fork in two fingers. Trail it towards food at..........about.......thissssssss.......s....p....e....e...d..........
Drop food in lap due to inadequate hold on fork.
D: Instruct Small Girl to SIT UP, HOLD FORK PROPERLY and EAT FOOD.
SG: WHINE! Get up, run into bedroom, slam door
D: Silently rise, follow Small Girl to bedroom.
Small Boy's comment. "Daddy want to Smack Julia."
Well labelled.
One of the most effective weapons in our armoury at the moment is Thomas the Tank Engine. The Small Boy loves Thomas. Well, no surprise there - he is, after all, a Small Boy.
I love Thomas too but for a different reason. I love him for the faces. Clear, round, single colour - perfect for thinking about expressions.
"Look. There goes Thomas going along the track. What sort of a face has he got on? Happy face? Yes, I think that's a happy face. Thomas likes going on his tracks. Uh-oh. There's a cow on the line. Beep beep! She's not getting out of the way. What sort of a face has Thomas got now? Look at those lines on his forhead. Those are grumpy lines. I think Thomas has got a grumpy face on. He doesn't like having a cow in the way."
Thomas gets us happy face, sad face, surprised face and grumpy face, so far. I'm looking for more. I think we can probably get in bored face, excited face - maybe scared face (do trains ever get scared?) before we've exhausted the emotional range of Thomas the Tank Engine. After that, I'll be looking for some good boy-friendly books that do body language. Not much of that in Thomas.
We go to Social Skills group every week at the moment. The Speech Therapists in charge report that the Small Boy has a limited range of emotions he understands - happy, sad, anything beyond that is "funny face". But I'm not so sure. Where it counts - understanding emotions in context - he's way ahead of that. Witness the following dinnertime scene...
The chief protagonists - one Small Girl. One grumpy, wriggly, squirmy, whiny Small Girl. And one Daddy. I forget what her issue was, TBH. I do recall she was pushing the parental buttons for all she was worth. And the viscious spiral escalated.
SG: Squirm squirm squirm
D: Instruct Small Girl to Sit Up With Legs Forward.
SG: Whine. Squirm in the other direction
D: Instruct Small Girl to SIT UP NOW and EAT FOOD.
SG: Whine more. Listlessly pick up fork in two fingers. Trail it towards food at..........about.......thissssssss.......s....p....e....e...d..........
Drop food in lap due to inadequate hold on fork.
D: Instruct Small Girl to SIT UP, HOLD FORK PROPERLY and EAT FOOD.
SG: WHINE! Get up, run into bedroom, slam door
D: Silently rise, follow Small Girl to bedroom.
Small Boy's comment. "Daddy want to Smack Julia."
Well labelled.
Monday, 12 December 2011
Words - the Final Frontier.
My Small Boy is now very much in favour of words. He understands the power of them. In fact, he believes in the power of them a little too much. So we get conversations like:
"Can't go to the playground. It's wet and raining."
"No. Is actually not wet playground. Is wet inna house. Playground is dry."
There is a little corner of his mind that is telling him that if he insists hard enough that the playground is dry, the playground will in fact become dry. And the house - which he can see clear enough is not, in fact, wet at this point - will become wet in its place. Basically, he believes in primitive nature magic. Sadly, it's not quite working out for him. He needs to work on his incantations a little.
His belief in the power of [em]my[/em] speech is a little closer to the mark. After all, if he can induce me to say important words like (not-so-random example) "Time to play Minecraft* now" then it's true, this will actually turn it into Minecraft playing time.
It does not, however, follow that taking my lower jaw and moving it up and down will cause me to say the magic words. Apparently worth trying as an experiment though.
The biggest roadblock for the Small Boy at the moment, is the problem of conflicting labels. See that cat in front of you? It's also an animal. And a pet. That roast potato? That's food. Also dinner. Trying to keep things simple, he has an intense aversion to this concept. No! Is NOT dinner! Issa tater! This is probably what's behind the whole "Yourcraft" confusion too. How can "mine" be a word for a hole in the ground? It's already the word for something that belongs to me.
Learning about grouping things - people, animals, foods, clothes - is an important abstract task. Important for being able to sort out and categorise and organise your world too.
Ah! Organisation! That sounds like a whole blog post in itself...
* Logically enough, Minecraft is only Minecraft to the Small Boy when he's playing it. When somebody else is playing, it's "YourCraft". Or "Rachel's Craft" or "Daddy's Craft". After a fair amount of time spent laboriously pointing out the difference between mine, yours, his and hers, I can hardly complain!
"Can't go to the playground. It's wet and raining."
"No. Is actually not wet playground. Is wet inna house. Playground is dry."
There is a little corner of his mind that is telling him that if he insists hard enough that the playground is dry, the playground will in fact become dry. And the house - which he can see clear enough is not, in fact, wet at this point - will become wet in its place. Basically, he believes in primitive nature magic. Sadly, it's not quite working out for him. He needs to work on his incantations a little.
His belief in the power of [em]my[/em] speech is a little closer to the mark. After all, if he can induce me to say important words like (not-so-random example) "Time to play Minecraft* now" then it's true, this will actually turn it into Minecraft playing time.
It does not, however, follow that taking my lower jaw and moving it up and down will cause me to say the magic words. Apparently worth trying as an experiment though.
The biggest roadblock for the Small Boy at the moment, is the problem of conflicting labels. See that cat in front of you? It's also an animal. And a pet. That roast potato? That's food. Also dinner. Trying to keep things simple, he has an intense aversion to this concept. No! Is NOT dinner! Issa tater! This is probably what's behind the whole "Yourcraft" confusion too. How can "mine" be a word for a hole in the ground? It's already the word for something that belongs to me.
Learning about grouping things - people, animals, foods, clothes - is an important abstract task. Important for being able to sort out and categorise and organise your world too.
Ah! Organisation! That sounds like a whole blog post in itself...
* Logically enough, Minecraft is only Minecraft to the Small Boy when he's playing it. When somebody else is playing, it's "YourCraft". Or "Rachel's Craft" or "Daddy's Craft". After a fair amount of time spent laboriously pointing out the difference between mine, yours, his and hers, I can hardly complain!
Monday, 28 November 2011
Lies, and the lying liar who tells them.
Yep, one Small Boy. Looked me straight in the eye and said "Julia did it" (left the scissors sitting out in the rain).
Not. A. Chance.
What sort of parent would be so stoked to find her son embarking on a career of deceit and untruthfulness? One who's concerned with his milestones.
Way to go, Small Boy. But I'm keeping a close eye on you now...
Not. A. Chance.
What sort of parent would be so stoked to find her son embarking on a career of deceit and untruthfulness? One who's concerned with his milestones.
Way to go, Small Boy. But I'm keeping a close eye on you now...
Monday, 21 November 2011
Words - the continuing story
So this is what I learned about promoting language development at the "zero to one word" stage - it's not necessarily about knowing the words. In fact, the Small Boy had previously been using a number of words and phrases before he was two, and then stopped for months. Things like "onna bike", "back door", "juice", "breakfast". And he responded appropriately to a lot more than he said ("this way". "Follow Daddy". "Time for jamas". "Brush teeth") and I'm sure understood the meaning of a lot of words that he didn't need to particularly respond to.
And yet, he wasn't using these words. Why not?
One thing I now believe about this stage of language development is that the crucial hurdle he needed to get over was confidence. His life was filled with people - mum, dad, big sisters - using all these complicated phrases at him. And for "complicated", read "two or three words". We thought we were making things nice and simple for him. Not nearly simple enough.
The message from us to him for this next phase, simply stated was this - you CAN communicate with just one word at a time, if that's all you've got. You're allowed to. Really. Look. Observe...
Daniel.
Daniel?
Juice?
Juice!
Hmmm. Cup.
There! Cup.
Pour. Juice!
Hmmmm. Lid.
Lid?
There! Lid!
Juice. Tasty.
Book?
Book.
Sit.
Book.
(read read read read)
The End.
Again?
(read read read read)
The End.
Again?
(How many times can you read the same picture book over again before you go insane? Well, it turns out I can do at least 'a couple of dozen a day for six weeks or so.' More than that, I wouldn't like to promise. Let me say, I am now really solidly grounded on what the wheels on the bus do. Apparently, they go round and round. ALL day long)
One of my favourite things from this stage was working out all the non-verbal ways he had of communicating things with us. There was the old "bring the juice bottle" trick. That was fairly straightforward. Less obvious - going to the garden to get two sticks (one for him, one for me). That meant "lets go for a walk" (and trail our sticks on the ground). And pretty soon, the words started to come back. More. Juice. Bear. Train. No.
And of course, the big favourite. AGAIN.
Again?
And yet, he wasn't using these words. Why not?
One thing I now believe about this stage of language development is that the crucial hurdle he needed to get over was confidence. His life was filled with people - mum, dad, big sisters - using all these complicated phrases at him. And for "complicated", read "two or three words". We thought we were making things nice and simple for him. Not nearly simple enough.
The message from us to him for this next phase, simply stated was this - you CAN communicate with just one word at a time, if that's all you've got. You're allowed to. Really. Look. Observe...
Daniel.
Daniel?
Juice?
Juice!
Hmmm. Cup.
There! Cup.
Pour. Juice!
Hmmmm. Lid.
Lid?
There! Lid!
Juice. Tasty.
Book?
Book.
Sit.
Book.
(read read read read)
The End.
Again?
(read read read read)
The End.
Again?
(How many times can you read the same picture book over again before you go insane? Well, it turns out I can do at least 'a couple of dozen a day for six weeks or so.' More than that, I wouldn't like to promise. Let me say, I am now really solidly grounded on what the wheels on the bus do. Apparently, they go round and round. ALL day long)
One of my favourite things from this stage was working out all the non-verbal ways he had of communicating things with us. There was the old "bring the juice bottle" trick. That was fairly straightforward. Less obvious - going to the garden to get two sticks (one for him, one for me). That meant "lets go for a walk" (and trail our sticks on the ground). And pretty soon, the words started to come back. More. Juice. Bear. Train. No.
And of course, the big favourite. AGAIN.
Again?
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