Autism's Bitch

Words on The Street

2012-01-21T11:42:00.003-06:00

Since I'm a lazy bitch, I can foresee myself inviting guest bloggers over to my little domain of cyber world. It just makes my life easier. Today is the first of these days.

Introducing Jeff Stimpson, proud father to Alex, who happens to have autism. I hereby crown Jeff as Autism's Bitch of the Day. He will receive an "e-tiara and house coat," just because I'm feeling generous.

~Autism's Bitch

My son Alex is 13 and has been watching Elmo and "Sesame Street" most of his life. "Sesame Street" has several characters; the voices of all of them drill into our skulls. "I want," says my wife Jill, "to kill Zoey."

With all our hearts we wish Alex wouldn’t watch "Sesame Street" in the mornings before he shaves and uses roll-on; it chills me to think he might be watching the show in a day program (should the funding for those even still exist) into his thirties.

One educational (and I admit it is educational – just wish it didn’t have to educate my new teenager) segment of Elmo involves babies. "Know ya baby!" says the deep-voiced lady who probably coaches field hockey. "Here’s what to know!" Crying. Sleepless nights. Spitting up. Tell me about it, coach.

To be fair, nobody except those who work at "Sesame Street" are supposed to listen to the these lines for so many years. That doesn’t help when Baby Bear cuts loose. "And looks, a wee little kitten up in a twee." Baby Bear pronounces every R like a W. Isn’t that cute, like the tender note to an old girlfriend that a sniper might leave before climbing into the tower? Baby Bear draws a character of his own, a superhero named Hero Guy (“What a hero! What a guy!”). Hero Guy fucks up getting the kitten out of the twee. Figures. "As a hero guy," he laments, "I have failed. I tried to get the kitty out of the twee but I … I … I couldn’t do it!" Cats get themselves out of trees, loser. Get into the tower.

Lately we’ve spotted Alex watching stuff other than "Sesame Street" on his iPad: Arthur, Bear in the Blue House, even "A Charlie Brown Christmas." We would welcome the sound of these words in our house. I’m afraid the words on "Sesame Street" are why we bought Alex an iPad. It’s also why we bought him headphones.

Jeff Stimpson is a native of Bangor, Maine, and lives in New York with his wife Jill and two sons. He is the author of Alex: The Fathering of a Preemie and Alex the Boy: Episodes From a Family’s Life With Autism (both available on Amazon). He maintains a blog about his family at jeffslife.tripod.com/alextheboy and is a frequent contributor to various sites and publications on special-needs parenting such as Autism-Asperger’s Digest, Autism Spectrum News, the Lostandtired blog, The Autism Society news blog, and An Anthology of Disability Literature (available on Amazon). He is on LinkedIn under “Jeff Stimpson” and Twitter under “Jeffslife.”

Corn Chex Saved My Life

2012-01-12T22:30:00.004-06:00

There is little that brings joy to the significantly pregnant. Except maybe food. This story is no different.

There once was a little gluten free girl (you know, kinda like the one with the little curl right in the middle of her forehead). One day, she could only be pleased with a never-ending supply of Lara bars (and those damn things are expensive). In a fit of rage (from who, I won't say), she and her swollen mama grabbed the first two gluten free things they could find: corn chex and peanut butter.

This automatically brought great rejuvenation to the mama and golden silence to the kid.

I highly recommend it.

The end.

Ho, Ho, Humbug

2011-12-19T11:45:00.002-06:00

You might think of me as an Elf-on-the-Shelf, cookie bakin', Bing Crosby playin', cheese ball makin' mother. And that's ok. I can see where it might be confusing. In all honesty, getting this picture taken required an act of God.

Reality at my house: The top half of the tree is decorated. Only the top half. Pumpkins are still on the porch (nothing says 'Feliz Navidad' quite like a few rotting gourds). The elf, which should now be on the shelf, is somewhere in the attic, probably getting shit on by mice at this very moment. And, my Christmas cards are duct taped to the wall (we don't fool around in this house).

So while in Bedford Falls, it might be A Wonderful Life, at the Engler household, it's more like Fear Factor.

Merry Christmas, anyway!

Merry Christmas

2011-12-06T13:24:00.003-06:00

For those of you who might not be aware, autism is the gift that keeps on givin' the whole year. Ya know, kinda like the Jelly of the Month Club, except the jelly only comes EVERY 30 DAYS OR SO.

May your Christmas be filled with stool collections and DMPS suppositories.

Oh, He's Just Yakkin' on a Bone...

2011-11-20T23:47:00.004-06:00

Let's talk about food aversions. I happen to be at a point in my life that there really are no food sensitivities. You know, with the whole pickles-and-ice-cream pregnancy cravings. My son is a different story.

Before autism, he was a surprisingly good eater. All of that changed once he got his one year shots. Along came autism, and with it came temper tantrums, food aversions, and a depletion of our savings account (thanks, Big Pharma!). Now, it's a good day if he doesn't purge miniature pieces of turkey all over our fine Dollar Store china.

A typical dinner scenario: Groundhog Day meets Christmas Vacation (the dog hacking scene). We hear him yak a few times, everybody stops to see what's going to happen (should we really be surprised?), and lo and behold, he "gets it up" and everybody carries on with their business.

I've bribed, threatened, swatted, and cried over it. He's improving, but it's a sloooooow journey. My advice for you is to have patience, start small, and wear protective head gear. Chances are, you're gonna need it, and nothing says 'sexy' quite like a hazmat suit.

Disclaimer: This story offers no hope for parents of picky autistic children. It just proves that autism sucks.

Martha Stewart Says, "Try Harder"

2011-10-21T20:13:00.002-05:00

If I was a horse, someone would've already put me out of my misery. My health is horrible and just getting worse, my kid is sick, etc., etc. I have a lot of tolerance for people's complaints and enjoy back and forth pity-party commentary except when it involves repeated excuses for your child.

I have a lot of cop-outs for myself, but I have nay a word to say about why I *can't* do for my son, because all that is is just cringeworthy.

It happens occasionally when I talk to an autism mom. I go over my mental powerpoints of suggestion, only to be met with melancholy excuses about how the diet is 'too hard' or how their child 'won't take medicine' or how they're 'afraid to give their kid a B12 shot'. Because honestly, in 15 years, when their child is a 200 pound, 6 foot tall man who's still throwing tantrums in Target, they might just wish they'd done more when he was young.

Now I know that some kids don't get better with biomed. I know of people who have tried it ALL and nothing has helped. But, at the end of the day, those parents can rest easy in the fact that they did all they could to help their child.

No excuses. No more regrets. Do what you can to treat your child's autism.

The End.

I See Something Shiny

2011-09-30T12:29:00.005-05:00

There's nothing quite like finding a black widow spider nestled next to your garbanzo beans. This occurrence sent me into a crazed OCD cleaning fit. I drifted off into the pantry, armed with a vacuum cleaner and cheap ass paper towel. I spent much too long moving packages like I was waiting for a ninja to jump out. Luckily, no ninjas--or black widows--made their appearance.

Continuing my quest for black widow spiders (I was itching at this point, kinda like you do after you hear someone has lice), I moved on to the kitchen corners. Somewhere along the way--I'm not sure where--I forgot my pinto beans on the stove. My pot boileth over. (Off topic: we really like beans in this house, which might explain our lack of visitors).

I said all that to say all this. I am easily distracted. Today's initial plan: work from home. Today's actual accomplishment: the smell of burnt beans permeating throughout my kitchen.

Daily Affirmations, Confessions, and Dreams

2011-09-19T13:26:00.002-05:00

Pregnancy underwear scares me. And this isn't some random thought that floats around in my head. I haven't finally flipped off the deep end. That thought flashes like a warning sign across my brain, because I know soon, I'll need to be fitting my extra large ass into a pair of them. I am pregnant again.

Let's get real here. It looks like I'm funneling Pabst's at an alarming rate. Past pregnancies, I've had a clear baby bump. Now, I just have a gut.

My goal for the future is to patent a maternity underwear that isn't big enough to live in, but does have a waistband large enough to make a WWE wrestler's belt look small.

By God, those f'ers won't roll down, will they?

Something I Learned Today

2011-09-08T23:27:00.002-05:00

Trader Joe's Inside Out Carrot Cake Cookies aren't as good if you nearly choke to death on them.

Death by pussy willow AND gluten-laced cookie. Bummer.

Death by Pussy Willow

2011-08-30T08:36:00.003-05:00

I've come to accept that I will probably die in some kind of embarrassing or highly unlikely situation. Pot smoking college students will watch its re-enactment on 1000 Ways to Die. All will conclude that only an idiot could have accomplished such a feat.

This realization was brought to my attention when I had an unfortunate incident with my underwire bra. It almost killed me. I'll leave the specifics to your own imagination.

Well, yesterday, I was on the back porch with Ayla. She was shaking a decorative ceramic holder which happened to have pussy willows in it. I knew her next step would be to pull them out and make a gigantic mess. I intervened, removing the pussy willows quickly. Amazingly--and I don't know how--a pussy willow smacked me across the face so hard it brought me to tears.

And if a pussy willow is capable of doing that, I'm sure it could leash a whole lot of whoop ass on an unlikely victim.

Welcome To Our World

2011-08-23T22:46:00.009-05:00

Here's your shit sandwich. How would you like it cooked?

It's hard to put into words the shit storm that autism moms have to endure. If finding a way to afford the "cool" clothes for your kid is a normal thing that you have to worry about, you're not at the same rodeo as me. Somehow, worrying about what your son will lick next at school is a foreign concern that should be brushed aside (according to some parents of normal children), because "those people" are used to it.

Well, I can't say that autism will ever become customary. I will never hear of a child smearing poop on the walls and think to myself, 'Well, old hat for his mom. Nothing to worry about, carry on.' Each autism episode leaves me more drained than the last.

I read an article today that gives a good account to what we live through. Autism folks, you've likely lived a day like this. "Regular" parents, check it out. Then, thank God for your normal world.

A Day in the Life of An Autism Mom

My Lunch Experience

2011-08-03T11:06:00.005-05:00

I planned on giving Ayla garbanzo beans for lunch. They're one of my favorites. But, after I nearly choked to death on a stray bean, I realized they might not be suitable for a toddler. Nonetheless, I regained my composure (some 30 minutes later) and decided to share my favorite chickpea recipe.

GFCF Baked Chickpeas

1 can chickpeas, drained
salt, pepper
extra virgin olive oil

Throw them together in a shallow pan and mix them up. Bake them at a low temperature (I'm not sure, around 375, I guess) for around 30 minutes. But be careful. If they get too hot, they'll explode. And that can be worse than choking on a chickpea.

FORE!

2011-06-20T00:02:00.004-05:00

I barrelled through road construction on the off ramp of my exit the other night. I seemed to be going at an excessive rate of speed, but if any cops are reading this, I'm fairly certain it wasn't over the speed limit.

It all happened so fast; a drop in pavement, a couple stray traffic cones, that 'unfinished' blacktop sound. All I know is that it was very similar to John Candy's situation in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, except I wasn't going the wrong way. I squeezed through those make-shift guardrails with juuuuuust enough room to not justify calling an ambulance. It was practically over before it even begun.

Nothing was damaged. Nothing but my nerves. I said all that to say all this: speed limits are important (IF you're speeding, that is).

I Heart Potato Chips

2011-06-13T17:00:00.003-05:00

I'm aware that my last two blog posts have referenced food of some kind. No, I'm not turning into Martha Stewart, despite our many resemblances.

That being said, I just want you to know that I have found heaven. Albeit, a rather crunchy and bitter form of paradise, but bliss nonetheless.

Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Sea Salt and Vinegar potato chips. Gluten free. Slightly more addicting than meth.

That's it. Nothing more. Just a bit of intelligence for your life, kinda like John Tesh, only slightly less offensive.

Sister Crystal's Recipe of the Day

2011-06-04T10:01:00.001-05:00

Many of you know that I'm not a good cook. I just wear a pinny for shits and giggles. Through the years, I have come to realize that doing the gluten and casein free diet (GFCF) is challenging in the area of cheesy-like sauces. I tried some the other day (fake macaroni and cheese) and took on an expression similar to Bill the Cat.

Now. I know Bill the Cat probably isn't a good image to display next to the title of "Sister Crystal's Recipe of the Day," but I want you to "get" the significance of disgustingness that most fake casein-free vegan cheeses have to offer. It's not something to toy around with. They are BAAAAAD.

I have stumbled upon a recipe for a cheesy-like sauce that is completely casein free and comes from Hallelujah Acres. They use it for fettuccini alfredo, but it could easily be used to top vegetables or whatever.

Fettuccini Alfredo (casein free) sauce:
1 tablespoon water
1 cup veganaise
1/2 cup nutritional yeast (make sure it's grown on sugar beets and is GFCF)
*I put a little olive oil in there, too. EVOO, bitches!!

The recipe gives particular directions for cooking it, but I just threw that shit together in a pan and brought it to a boil. Bon appetit!

Just an Observation...

2011-05-30T16:52:00.005-05:00

Illinois birds are crazy. And I don't mean the canaries. The blackbirds are like lot lizards of I-57, waiting until they see my car approaching, fully prepared to jump out in front of it. On purpose, of course. They're like little kamikaze pilots.

Fortunately, no birds--canary or otherwise--were harmed on my trip to Chicago. That's a win-win for all involved parties.

Neither Rain, Nor Snow, Nor Dark of Night...

2011-05-23T20:55:00.004-05:00

Shall keep me from the Autism One conference this weekend. If I had to ride my friend's parents Vespa (with matching helmet, of course), I would be there.

I hear this is the Superbowl of autism. Moms and Dads alike travel for miles to learn the latest on autism treatment, get their drink on, and sleep through the night.

I'm keeping my pinny, frozen dinners, and elastic waistband shorts at home. This housewhore is breaking out.

Got Swelling?

2011-05-05T00:32:00.002-05:00

I swear, I've turned into a camel. I cannot get enough to drink. I'm going to wind up guzzling 15 gallons of water today to store in my hands and feet tomorrow. I'll be the Woman-Who-Can't-Fit-In-Her-Shoes and must wear blue vibrating house shoes to Wal-Mart.

At least I'll be identifiable.

I'd Rather Be _____________

2011-04-16T15:33:00.004-05:00

Insert your word of choice. Getting an enema. Dancing the Cha Cha. Getting a root canal. Whatever.

I love those bumper stickers that say stupid shit like, "I'd rather be driving a titleist." Well, today, I'd rather be doing anything than mixing Hayden's supplements.

If you're a biomed mom or dad, especially one that follows Dr. Yasko, you'll know that mixing supplements could very well be an Olympic sport.

We take over the entire kitchen. Herbs here. Vitamins there. MitoForce spread across the floor. GABA snorted up my nose (in a much less appealing manner than what I'd imagine cocaine to be). We compound. We sneeze. We cuss.

But once the two to three hour long hell is complete, we have Hayden's individualized improvement plan. And knowing how he has blossomed keeps me going.

I'll save the enema for later.

The Days of My Life

2011-03-28T13:08:00.002-05:00

Many of you wonder (probably not, actually) what a typical day in my house is like. I thought it was about time that you found out. Instead of baking pies and bringing my husband drinks to sip on while he lounges with his pipe by the fireplace, I typically witness events such as the following: Hayden is strumming the guitar and singing various things such as the Alphabet Song, Happy Birthday to Hayden (never mind that his birthday is in November), and something about riding in a car. Ayla is looking excited for him as she stares him down and shits her pants.

There is never a dull moment at the Engler household. And if you think it's just the kids that are entertaining, think again. The white dog is too scared to come in the house, and the brown one is busy barking at air in the kitchen.

We put the "fun" in dysfunctional.

Yes, Boobs Can Be Too Big (According to a Woman)

2011-03-07T18:02:00.002-06:00

I haven't seen a lot of boobs in my life. I really don't have a desire to. But, it does seem to me that the bigger a girl is, the bigger her boobs are (fat girls with little boobs, please don't send me hate mail; skinny girls with big boobs, you know they're fake so shut the hell up).

My boobs aren't what I'd like them to be (who's really happy with their boobs, unless they're paid for?). I found a bra that promises to pump those babies up two cup sizes. I tried it on. Angels began singing. I'm pretty sure I heard an orchestra somewhere off in the distance.

I bought it, and took it home. Unfortunately, I didn't look at myself from the side until later. Oh Heavenly Father. A double D does not match my frame (no, I'm not skinny, but I could have poked an eye out with those damn things). Brock even said they were too big. It was like an elephant was in the room. Two of them, for that matter.

I regret to say that my bra will have to be returned, along with my newly-found-but-only-for-a-moment self-esteem. Back to mediocre-sized boobs I go. Besides pumping, there'll be no 'Expressing Myself' in the near future. Damn the luck.

Let's Go Krogering

2011-02-27T16:02:00.003-06:00

**The above music is really necessary to get the full effect of the evening's events. Please proceed with your volume at an ungodly level.

Being an autism mom, I'm typically on the lookout for situations that could prove to be "sticky," shall we say. I let my guard down; sometimes I do that when Brock is around. I assume he'll keep Hayden from mortally embarrassing us.

Last night, we went shopping. I actually saw this one coming, but there was relatively NOTHING that I could do to avoid the situation. A lady weighing approximately 500 pounds was shopping in one of those motorized wheelchairs. Both of my kids were intrigued. Ayla was leaned back, staring a hole in her, motionless of course. About that time, before I could distract Motor-mouth (let me add that Motor-mouth is every autism mom's dream nickname for their child...speech is such an issue), Hayden looked at her and said, "Oh yeeeeeeah." I wheeled away as fast as I could, dragging my loud-mouthed child behind me.

But, Hayden didn't stop there. He felt a strong desire to tell the entire store upon our departure, "Thanks for shopping at Wal-Mart." I ignored that one, too.

What I did NOT ignore happened later in the evening. Some friends came over to visit, and Hayden walked up to one of them (more than once), pointed to the man's head, and said, "You don't have any hair."

What can I say? At least he's animated.

We Had a Little Accident

2011-02-13T17:49:00.004-06:00

I've been threatening to rob the pizza delivery person for years. That tells you a little about my love/hate relationship with food. Well, last night, the pizza came to me. I was minding my own business, half naked in my bathroom, preparing for an exciting (yeah right) evening out. All of the sudden, Brock burst into my Calgon moment and said someone had wrecked in our yard.

I donned my ever-fashionable stained terrycloth robe and went to see what the ruckus was about. There in my front yard, like a gift from God, was a pizza delivery woman. She ran right through our neighborhood sign and practically into my dining room. Talk about curbside service.

The good news is that we got all the pizza we'll ever want or need. I spent a good deal of time rummaging through the boxes, eating it with my hands. Fuck the plate. I was all over that shit like a fat man in spandex.

What's worse than my pizza binge is the fact that another delivery guy came in and witnessed this atrocious event. With me in my robe. Carrying a baby on my hip. While my autistic six-year-old circled around me pushing a shopping cart and singing about the weather.

I cannot make this shit up.

Who Farted?

2011-01-26T20:57:00.002-06:00

Hayden is learning well. Today, he 'broke wind'. This was no poot. It could only be described as quite a ferocious fart.

He looked around. When he was sure everybody was staring (and honestly, after that fart, everybody was), he said in his most exasperated voice, "What was THAT?"

I am proud to say Hayden can now place blame. Wonder if that's a skill in his ABA workbook?

He Just Keeps Talking

2011-01-11T14:14:00.001-06:00

I always wanted Hayden to talk. What kind of mother wouldn't? Something deep inside told me that one day, he'd never shut up. Well, that's where we're at now. His back and forth communication still pretty much sucks, but by God, he's talking. And talking. And it continues from sun up to sun down.

Usually it's about things that he's heard on that God forsaken Mr. Rogers show, but lately, public outings have been interesting. The other day, he managed to embarrass me twice in one store. He walked by some lady and said, "How's it going, Toots?"

Then later, as a toddler had what I can only guess was an exorcism (or possibly a tantrum), he looked at him and said, "You're a bad, BAD girl."

Well, at least he got the first half right. I didn't have the heart to correct him, on either account.