Looking Ahead To Back-To-School

We’re less than two weeks away from the end of the school year in our district. While I should probably be focused on what on earth I plan to do with my children during the summer months (answer: summer camp for most days), I’m actually already looking ahead to the next school year.

Cordy started kindergarten in a way that I wasn’t all that happy with. I had big hopes that she would be deemed “ready” to be placed in a mainstream kindergarten class, having conquered the difficulties brought on from autism.

I occasionally have to remind myself that autism is for life, and many of the challenges it can cause don’t vanish into the mist with a little therapy.

So I grudgingly agreed with the school assessment that she should be placed in a special-needs classroom and given some “inclusion” time with the typical kids. I feared it would mean that she wouldn’t get much time in the other class and would only drive her further away from normal.

I’ll admit I was wrong. Cordy has done very well in her class this year. Her teacher has put in a tremendous amount of work to help her cope with social situations, coach her through her anxieties, and encourage her to spend time in the typical kindergarten class. She’s coaxed Cordy into showing what she knows academically (Cordy is very shy about demonstrating any talent), sharing that she can read at a second grade level and will likely qualify for the gifted education program. And Cordy now spends up to half the school day in the mainstream classroom with few problems.

Why am I concerned with next year then? Easy – I’ve been anxious over determining where she belongs next year.

Cordy is academically advanced for most first grade subjects. Letting her go to a mainstream first grade class would challenge her socially, but would mean she didn’t get the academic challenge she needs. On the other hand, keeping her in a special-needs class would guarantee more specialized academic education, but she wouldn’t get the social challenge she needs.

It’s a dilemma.

Luckily, Cordy’s amazing kindergarten teacher may have come through for us again. She told us that one teacher will have a “split” class next year, meaning it will be made up of a mix of first and second grade kids. Her suggestion is to have Cordy attend that class, while still staying on the homeroom roster for the special-needs classroom.

Here’s how it would work: Cordy would check in with her special needs teacher each morning, then go to class in the mixed grade classroom, where she’d get both the social challenge of being with typical peers and the academic challenge of being in a class that also has second graders. She would be a member of that class, but if she had any problems she could go back to the special-needs class for however long was needed to address the issue that day.

On paper…err, e-mail…it appears to be a fantastic option. I’ve asked to meet the new teacher and hope to do so in the next week to finalize the details of this plan. To say that I’m thrilled that a split class has been formed would be an understatement. A mixed age group is exactly what Cordy needs – ideally, we would have sent her to a Montessori school, but private schools are outside of our budget.

Of course, a lot of the credit for getting this plan in place has to go to my sweet, hard working, preternaturally charming Cordelia. It helps that she has the entire school enchanted with her, from the principal who made an exception to keep her at that school, to other teachers who have declared they want her in their classes when she’s older. Not only has she put forth a lot of effort this year to practice the bizarre (to her) social requirements of society, she’s also fought back some of her stubbornness to allow herself to be taught, all while keeping up her aura of charisma.

For being socially awkward, she sure knows how to reel them in to get what she needs.

Did I mention goofy? That too.

I’m hopeful for the next school year – more hopeful than I’ve ever been, I think.



Mother’s Day Presents

Scene: In the car the other day.

Cordy: Mama, it will be Mother’s Day soon. What kind of present do you want?

Me: I don’t know. What do you think I’d like?

Mira: Mommy, you like flowers!

Me: Well, yeah, flowers are OK I guess.

Cordy: No, Mira! Mommy likes chocolates more! You want chocolates for Mother’s Day, right?

Me: Ummm…I am trying to diet…

Mira: Flowers! Mommy wants flowers!

Cordy: Chocolates!

Mira: Flooooowers!

Cordy: Chooooocolates!

Me: What about sleep? I’d like that for Mother’s Day.

Mira: Mommy, that’s not a present!

Me: Oh, you’d be surprised what mommies would consider presents…

Later…

Cordy: Mama, I know what your present will be! Us! We’re your presents, mommy!

Me: Well, yes, but actually, you’re the reason I get presents on Mother’s Day.

Cordy: (panic in her voice) But we can’t get you anything because the Toys R Us doesn’t have anything you like!

Me: Um…well, I guess that’s true…

Cordy: So if you don’t like anything from the Toys R Us, we won’t have anything to give you! Can’t you like a toy that we like, and then we can get you that?

Me: I think you’re missing the point now…

After that conversation, I’m a little scared to think what will be waiting for me on Mother’s Day. It’ll either be nothing, flowers, chocolates, or a new Thomas & Friends train set with some easy reader Backyardigans books.

Note to self: teach my children what “spa” means and why mommies like it.

And I still argue that sleep can be a present.



Soccer Mom

On Saturday, I officially became a soccer mom.

My inauguration was supposed to be the week before, but a brief case of food poisoning kept Cordy from making it to the first practice.

Cordy has been interested in soccer since she was two years old. She’s always loved kicking the ball around the backyard, head down, focused on having her foot make contact with the ball. For all of her lack of coordination, she’s surprisingly good at kicking a ball.

Signing her up for a soccer league is something I’ve been considering for some time, but I’ve been plagued by a lot of doubts every time I get close to doing so. She doesn’t like a lot of loud noises, and she certainly doesn’t like cheering. Coping with losing is not a strong point for her. She’s not very focused on group activities, preferring anything she can do alone instead.

But this year I’ve been getting some positive reports from school that made me think that now was the right time. Her teacher e-mailed me last month and said that Cordy learned to play kickball and was now playing with the other kids at recess. She then e-mailed me another day to let me know Cordy scored a home run kick that day. And then the next e-mail stated that the principal taught Cordy how to pitch the ball for kickball, and she can now pitch for her team! I was honestly shocked that she had become so interested in a group sport.

I still didn’t feel comfortable with signing her up for a soccer group, until I learned about a local soccer league for special-needs kids. The league is for all ages (they separate the kids into age-appropriate groups), and the focus is on simply doing your best and having fun. Each child received their own uniform, and there are lots of volunteers to help guide the kids and keep them motivated.

When I took Cordy to her first practice, she really didn’t want to go. “But mommy, my team will lose!”

“You don’t know that, Cordy. You might win. And either way, you’ll have fun.”

“But I might lose, too. I don’t wanna lose.”

Her anxiety was high when we got to the indoor soccer facility, made even worse by seeing the image of a flaming soccer ball on the outside of the building. (“Why is that soccer ball on fire? Will we get burned in there? I don’t want to catch on fire!”) As I checked her in and got her uniform, she stood off to the side pacing and hopping, looking uneasy.

I took her to the bathroom to change into her uniform, answering questions about what she was going to do and why she had to wear the uniform. I decided to skip the shin guards completely – strapping something tight around her lower legs probably wouldn’t go over well at the moment. Once she was dressed, it was like a switch flipped. “Mama, I look like a real soccer player!”

I took her to her assigned field, where several kids were already kicking balls around. Cordy took one look at all the balls and ran right in, eager to kick as many balls as she could.

Soon it was time for practice, and all of the balls except for one were removed from the area. The coach led the kids in some stretches and warmups, which Cordy mostly participated in. Then half the kids put on blue tank tops while the others kept their yellow shirts only to separate them into two teams. The rules were explained, and off they went!

The first goal was made by Cordy’s team. She ran right over to me, shouting, “I won! I scored a goal!” I reminded her that it was only one goal, and there was a lot more of the game to play. (I decided not to point out that she wasn’t the one who scored the goal, either. She wasn’t anywhere near the ball that time.)

The second attempt resulted in a goal for the other team. Cordy again came over to me, this time looking sad, and said, “We lost, mama. I want to go home now.” A little more encouragement, and she was back out with the other kids again. If she planned to do this each time, it was going to be a long, emotionally draining hour.

Cordy did fairly well on the field. She didn’t like to get in close with other kids, and so she wasn’t good at going after the ball. But when the ball happened her way, she often gave it a powerful kick to send it back down to the other end of the field, leaving others on her team to score the goal.

About 40 minutes in, Cordy started begging to go home. She was tired and didn’t want to play anymore because the other team kept scoring. I reminded her that kids who stayed for the full hour got a snack, and that was enough motivation for her to finish out the practice.

While I would have been worried about her behavior in another soccer league, in this group she fit right in. Other kids had meltdowns, didn’t want to go near the ball, kicked it the wrong way, picked it up with their hands, or just sat down on the field and refused to move. And the parents just cheered them on and provided encouragement.

No one though twice if a child had to leave for a few minutes to calm down. Parents were allowed out on the field to help their child if needed. It was a supportive environment filled with love for our kids, ending with all of the parents standing side by side in two lines, putting their arms up to form a “tunnel” for the kids to run through while the parents cheered and told them what a good job they did.

After we got home, Cordy told me that she had fun and wants to go back again next week. I’m hoping this will be a good introduction to group sports, and perhaps if she does well in this league, we can try her in a more competitive league in the future.



Poisoning Kids With Bright & Colorful Foods

When Cordy was first diagnosed with autism, we looked into everything we could to help her. Therapy was expensive and involved long waiting lists, but in the meantime there were several doctors promoting supplements, medications, and diets that promised anything from a little help to a complete miracle.
I tried to be skeptical, or as skeptical as one can be when first finding out your child has a lifelong neurological condition that you would pay nearly anything to see disappear. I dismissed the big promises as junk science, but one topic kept coming up over and over: food additives.
Eliminating artificial food additives from my daughter’s diet was a simple enough solution to try, I thought. After all, it required buying no supplements or paying for some guide to the secret foods she must eat to behave properly. I just needed to read labels a little more closely, right?

Ha.

I don’t know if you’ve been reading labels lately, but just about EVERYTHING has artificial food dyes in it. Candy, mac and cheese, juices, fruit snacks, crackers, grape jam, cereal, baked goods, applesauce, chips – the list goes on and on. If it’s designed for kids, it’s even more likely to have artificial dyes in it. When I first tried to swap out her regular favorite foods for dye-free foods, it was nearly impossible. Everything had dye in it, even when it didn’t need to. (Why would something WHITE like white cheddar mac and cheese need dye in it?)

Now the FDA is turning its attention to food additives this week – specifically food dyes – and I’m carefully following the news to see what conclusions they draw. Since Cordy’s diagnosis, I am now convinced that food dyes play a role in her behavior, and when she avoids them her behavior is much better. She’s like a Jekyll & Hyde depending on if she’s ingested artificial food dyes or not.
Research shows that many children exhibit signs of hyperactivity when they consume artificial food dyes, and limiting the diet to remove these dyes often results in a dramatic improvement in behavior. The proof is enough for the European Union to require warning labels on foods containing artificial food dyes, resulting in fewer foods containing the dyes in European countries.
I’ve done my own experiment. It went something like this: Detox Cordy from all dyes for 5 days. Then give her a candy that has nothing artificial in it. (Plain rock candy sticks are great for this test.) Wait for any behavior change. In this case, no behavior change.
Then the next day, give her candy with food dye in it. (Blue lollipops are her favorite, and also her downfall.) Wait for any behavior change. After eating it, 30-45 minutes later she was a monster: unfocused, quick to tantrum, hyperactive, irritable, unsettled and sometimes feeling tired and ill. These changes can sometimes last 3-5 days from one exposure.
Suddenly it all made sense. I now know why holidays and birthdays were so traumatic in the past (colored icing on cakes and cookies!), why she always acted up more after a lollipop, and why cupcakes made her sick to her stomach.
Artificial colors are poison to my daughter. They alter her behavior, cloud her mind, and leave her unable to cope.
The worst part? They’re in most kid foods, and there’s no need for these dyes. Their only purpose is to make junk food look pretty and colorful so you’ll want to eat more of it. And there are plenty of perfectly good natural dyes that can be used in their place. Just look at the Annie’s brand of fruit snacks – all natural colors, but still bright, and my kids still beg for them.
It is maddening to find dye-free foods for my family. We often have to shop in the organic section of the grocery store to find safe foods, and because they’re in the organic section they cost more.
Teaching Cordy about what she can and can’t eat has been difficult, too. She is old enough now to understand that dyes make her sick. She’s even admitted to us that she feels “bad” (as in sick or unwell) when she eats something full of dyes. She can’t read labels yet, however, so she has to rely on adults to tell her what’s safe and what’s not. (Although she’s getting good at seeing most brightly colored candy and saying, “That will make me sick.”)
But we still have to take away 80% of her Halloween candy and trade it for safe snacks. And it’s hard when even the schools encourage her to eat Skittles as rewards in the classroom, or popsicles on the playground because all of the kids are getting them. They think they’re being fair to her, but they’re only hurting her. Fair is actually NOT giving her the popsicles the other kids are eating, so that she’ll be able to function in the classroom after recess.
I’m tired of food manufacturers saying that artificial food dyes are safe. They’re not. Most are made from coal tar or petroleum. Some have been labeled carcinogens. I don’t need Red #40 in my ice cream to know it’s strawberry – that’s why I have taste buds.
I e-mailed Kraft Foods over a year ago and asked why they needed to add yellow food dye to their famous blue box of mac and cheese when there are safer natural yellow dyes that could be used instead. The response was that the FDA had declared it safe to use, and they have no plans to change their ingredients. It was a beautifully written pat on the head with an underlying tone of, “Well, bless your heart, you poor crunchy nut. We don’t care what you think because kids like neon glow in the dark mac and cheese.”
I hope the FDA won’t bow to the lobbying from the food industry this time and will, at the minimum, require warning labels on any foods containing artificial food dyes. And then maybe Cordy’s favorite mac and cheese will decide it’s time to change their ingredients so she can eat it safely.


Temple Grandin Gives Me Hope

Seems like anytime I send for an old-fashioned DVD from Netflix, it then sits around our house for weeks and weeks before I ever get around to watching it, even if I was so excited to see it. Just another reason why instant streaming always wins in our house.
But I did finally dig the latest DVD out on Saturday night, and I sat down to watch the HBO movie, Temple Grandin. I roughly knew the story – a biopic about the life of a woman with autism who has gone on to do incredible things both in spite of and because of her different mind – and I was interested in learning more about Temple. I thought it might help me understand my own daughter a little bit more and maybe even help me feel more confident about her future. However, I wasn’t prepared for the emotional gut punch that came with the story.

If you have a child with autism, I highly recommend this movie. With tissues.

If you don’t have a child with autism, I also highly recommend this movie. Possibly with tissues.

The first part that brought tears to my eyes was near the beginning, in a flashback scene where her mother remembers when Temple was four years old and diagnosed with autism. Her mother asked how soon they could start treatment to cure her, and the doctor flatly told her that in these cases they recommended institutionalizing the child for life. Her mother’s reaction – one of confusion and horror – reached right out and grabbed my heart.

I’m thankful that research for autism has come so far since 1960. I can’t imagine being told my child would have no chance at a life outside of an institution. But I shared a similar reaction when the school told us they thought Cordy had autism. Oh sure, I put on a pretty brave stiff-upper-lip about the whole thing when it happened, but I can honestly say now that I was so very, very scared. In those first few days I was faced with an entirely different life plan for Cordy, one where I had to wonder if she’d ever be able to go to college, or have friends, or even live on her own. While it was a complete overreaction, for a short time autism felt like a death sentence for all of my hopes and dreams for my beautiful curly-headed firstborn.

Temple, despite being nonverbal at four years old, wasn’t put in an institution. Her mother worked with her daily, brought in others to teach her as well, and she eventually went to school, then to college, then to graduate school, and she now has her PhD. Her family didn’t give up on her, and they didn’t let her give up either. It was interesting to see how her family worked with her through her quirks and needs in high school and college, but at the same time they still insisted that some things must be done, no matter how difficult. I only wish the film had been longer to show more of how Temple was brought out of her shell as a child.

It was also painful to see how others treated and reacted to her. She was bullied, she was called a freak, and she was an easy target for others. I already know Cordy will face an onslaught of bullying in school, and I don’t know how to protect her. Thankfully she often doesn’t notice if someone teases her, but I know that kids don’t like to be ignored and will drive their point home if she misses it, physically if needed. She has such a gentle soul that believes everyone is good – how will I prepare for the day when that soul is crushed by cruelty and she realizes her rigid definition of humanity doesn’t fit?

The second time I cried was at the end, when Temple attended an autism conference and was asked to speak. Just the full realization that this woman – with autism – has led such a successful life overwhelmed me with happiness and hope. Her different way of thinking led her to design cattle pen systems that are considered some of the most humane ever invented, and over half of the feedlots and slaughterhouses in the US now use her designs.

She wouldn’t have been able to do it without being autistic and seeing the world the way she does. She’s published many articles and a few books on her work with animals, and she’s also written about what it’s like to have autism, how she overcame her challenges, and how she embraces her autism as a part of her. She meets nearly every definition of success.

I still have days when I look at Cordy and wonder what her life will be like. She’s come so incredibly far from that three year old who recited entire episodes of Dora but couldn’t carry on a simple conversation. The kid who had a 20 minute meltdown, trying to bash her head into the floor over and over, because her routine had changed, or the room was too loud, or she had touched fingerpaint.
She’s full of life, she’s outspoken (although she tends to talk way too much), and she’s smart. She still has no grasp of sarcasm, takes everything you say literally (never say you want to kill something in front of her), and is still bothered by certain sensory stimuli. Will she continue improving? Will she be successful?
I don’t know if she’ll go on to college, but I plan to do everything I can to get her ready for it if she wants to. Maybe even if she doesn’t want to – after all, Cordy needs a lot of pushing to face her fears and grow. If I didn’t force her to go outside of her comfort zone, she’d still be unable to deal with a loud room and still drinking only out of sippy cups. I feel like the bad guy when I make her do things she doesn’t want to do, but I really believe she has to conquer those fears if she’s going to realize her full potential.
I have yet to read any of Temple Grandin’s books, but I plan to add them to the top of my priority reading list. I want to know more about her experiences and how she felt about her family and teachers and how they challenged her. I want to better understand her in the hopes of better understanding my own daughter, and perhaps get some tips on how to better reach out to Cordy. I’m considering going to see Temple speak when she’s in Indianapolis in April, too.
So yeah, if you get the chance, add Temple Grandin to your Netflix queue or just buy it outright. And don’t wait as long as I did to watch it.

Full disclosure: Just because it needs to be said, no one contacted me asking me to review this film – I just wanted to watch it. Although the links above do contain my Amazon ID, meaning if you click on the link and buy the DVD, I get a few pennies in return.

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