The Pondering Dad

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

2013-12-18T20:39:00.000-05:00

For those of you who follow my blog, you know I can ramble on and on sometimes...okay, most of the time. With that said, and to lighten the mood after my previous, rather heavy, post, I give you the following photos. I think they say enough, but I should mention that the first one was written sometime around July or August, 2013! The card was handmade by my son (with a little help from Grandma), and the letter/thoughts were all his doing without any prompting. Enjoy!

Not sure if he was planning to be good for the last two months before Christmas or just August and September!

I'm guessing he was going to be good November and December...still waiting on the verdict...

Since this will probably be my last post in 2013, and because I know everyone checks back daily, I leave you with the following (scroll to the appropriate wish each day and it will be like a new entry!)

Happy Hanukkah!!!

Merry Christmas!!!

Happy Kwanzaa!!!

Happy New Year!!!

and just in case....Happy Valentine's Day!!! ---%-@ <---that's supposed to be a rose. :)

Whatever you celebrate, I wish you the best, and, as always, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Didn't see that one coming

2013-12-11T22:38:00.000-05:00

This past October, my wife and I received some amazing news...the test showed a positive sign...as did the second test she took just to be sure. I was on the verge of convincing her to take a third test, you know, just to be sure...oh, wait, that was what the second test was for, wasn't it?

It wasn't that I was not excited (I was extremely excited...and nervous...and happy...and confused...and thrilled...and wondering what the hell we were doing having a kid in our forties...and nervous...but mostly really really excited), it was that I grew up in a generation where women went to the doctors to get a blood test before they found out if she was pregnant or not. Although they are very accurate, I still did not trust the over-the-counter pee-stick...I mean, come on, pee on a stick to see if you are preggers??? What's next? A phone that takes photos or plays music? Ha! Yeah, right!

Let's take a step back for a moment...back to the moment I found out for the first time. As I was preparing dinner, Jane asked me to go upstairs to the bathroom and grab something off the counter. I briefly thought to myself, "Why don't you go get it, I'm cooking dinner...geez!" but my smart brain kicked in, just in time, and said, "Yes, dear." When I arrived, I noticed a stick sitting on a piece of open wrapping. Being the observant and curious one, I looked at it. There it was, a pee stick. I have seen them before, so I was not surprised to see it there, but just for giggles, I picked it up. As my fingers touched the handle of the stick, I saw the "+"...

So, here I am, about to pick up a stick that has just been peed on, having a million emotions from all ends of the emotion spectrum blazing through my little brain, not knowing which emotion to hold on to, wondering when we can share the news, planning how we will share the news, thinking, "nah, its a false positive", wondering, "how are we going to do this?', planning the call to Auntie, to whom I promised seven years ago she would be the first to know, looking in the mirror and seeing my happy face - which doesn't appear often enough, and at one point, even wondering whose test this was since it clearly must belong to someone else (not really sure why I thought that last one, but I did). By the time my fingers actually lifted the stick off of the counter, my brain was exhausted.

In the next few days, Jane and I talked about names, genders, possibilities - both good and bad, when do we make the announcement, how we tell our 12 year old son, and quite possibly the most important thing in her eyes - which books to buy. The first three days were completely consumed with baby talk. She and I both knew it was going to be a girl, so we concentrated on the girl names. It was then that we both noticed that girl names are so much more interesting and cooler than boy names. We developed a list of possibilities, eventually deciding on Farren Delaney.

Farren means bold traveler, or adventurous. Lately, it seems our lives are in a prelude to much larger adventures. Time will tell. Delaney means dark challenger...yeah, not so thrilled with the challenger part, but the reason we chose Delaney was because of "De" meaning "of" and "La" part of "Larry" and "aney" part of "Jane"...thus, "of Larry and Jane"...Delaney...get it?

So at this time, we decided we needed to tell our son. As an Aspie, he does not like to be surprised with sudden changes, but as our son he has grown accustomed to some changes through practice and teachings from us; however, this would not be a little change in plans, no, this was a HUGE change in plans. We planned to video record his reaction, and we did, but I won't post it here since he was walking around in his PJs (underwear and one of my old tee-shirts), but I will try to describe it for you.

We learned that at that particular time, Farren would be about the size of a grain of rice. Which, even now, completely amazes me that something so incredibly magical can start off so small. Jane picked out a cute little grain of brown rice and laid her down in a cozy little ramekin. Grant sat down on the couch, wondering why we called him downstairs before bedtime. As Jane and Grant sat next to each other, I filmed (although I'm not sure I can call it filming anymore since it was done with my phone...) Jane placing the little piece of rice into Grant's 12 year old hand. Jane asked, "Do you know what it is?" to which Grant replied, "Its a grain of rice."

As he inspected the grain with puzzlement, Jane opened an app on her phone that shows the progression of birth by the week. Once the drawing of the baby was visible on the screen, Jane turned the phone to Grant who then said, "What's that? It looks like a whale." Jane replied, "It's an embryo. It's about six weeks old. Do you know how big they are?" Grant replied, "No." "What's in your hand?" asked Jane. "A grain of rice." said Grant. Jane followed up with, "So that's how big your little baby brother or sister is at this point."

"WHAT?!?!?" Grant excitedly replied. Jane started giggling and Grant continued with, "Mom! What? I'm having a brother? Really??? Mom?" Jane replied with, "It might be a sister, too!" At this point he stood up, clearly thrilled with the idea and said, "I'm going to be a big brother or sister!" After the laughter of that last comment, and his realization of what he just said, and with his hands on top of his head in the "I can't believe this" pose, he looked at Jane and calmly said, "Am I dreaming?"

At this point, his brain began to fully understand what was happening. He told Jane she was going to be a mommy again and looked a bit worried. When Jane asked how he felt about all of this, "Scared." was his only answer. Trust me kid, I know what you mean! The amazement and happiness were still there, but they began to break up into pieces with the voids being replaced by concern. Grant leaned into Jane and the flood gates opened up.

"I don't want to be a big brother." he cried. "Why not?" we both asked. "Because I'm scared." he said. The funny thing is, everyone of our friends and colleagues who have seen him in action have commented on how great he does with younger kids...even babies. He is a natural. One day, he is going to be an amazing father.

So, in a matter of three minutes, his emotions went from puzzlement, then to happiness, then to worry. I stopped recording at that point, but the story doesn't end here. What happened next is what I found to be very interesting and what I would guess is an Aspie trait...but I could be wrong - it might just be a 12 year old trait, or maybe just a typical response to big changes. Who knows?

Over the course of the next few weeks, we called my aunt and uncle first to share the news (I finally was able to keep my promise), then my folks, had a doctor's visit, told a select few friends, and planned on how we would tell my sisters and Jane's family. With each phone call Grant was thrilled to share the news. His worry seemed to have subsided back into excitement.

As the seasons began to change, Grant started complaining about a headache. I attributed it to the pressure changes and seasonal issues. The leaves were falling, the rain came and went, and the temperatures fluctuated often. His demeanor was also changing with Mother Nature. A week or so went by, and his headaches continued. During this time, Jane and I began to realize Farren may not make it to full term. With our worries, even though we tried to remain positive and lighthearted around Grant, added to the mix, it was pretty clear Grant was experiencing a myriad of emotions.

Grant took it upon himself to find a diagnosis for his constant headaches. One day he had a brain tumor, the next he thought his scratched glasses were the cause. Another day he chalked it up to falling asleep a half hour later than usual, and the next he blamed the soccer ball that he headed at recess one day. He stayed with the brain tumor for a while and it was at this point I took him to see the doctor.

When the doctor entered the examining room, she had already been briefed by me about the many changes going on in our lives. She asked the typical questions, probed the typical orifices,and examined the typical things you examine. Diagnosis: no brain tumor. Headaches related to tension. Almost immediately, the 500 pound weight was lifted from this little boy's shoulders.

Over the next few days, his headaches were disappearing, but so was something else; Farren. After three visits to the doctor's office, it became more apparent that Farren would not get to see me cry rivers of happy tears when she arrived sometime in mid-2014. Once faced with the realization, we decided we should inform Grant. As heavy as the conversation was, the little guy handled it quite well. Although relieved, his empathy for our loss was heartfelt and amazingly sincere for a 12 year old Aspie; however, in the end, I believe he was more relieved than sad - which we explained to him was perfectly normal.

Although Farren Delaney never made it into my arms, in the short time she was with us she taught us more than we could have learned in years of experience. In addition to my wife's life changing lessons, and my realization of where I am in my life and where I want to be in the near future, she taught us that Grant is still a young guy who may not always get the correct diagnosis from WebMd, but that he will persevere and he is a well grounded individual who is very empathetic and pretty deep for a 12 year old Aspie.

We won't try again, which was a difficult decision for both Jane and I to make, but after realizing the Universe has other plans for us, such as focusing on raising a child who will grow up to be someone very special to the world, we figured it was best to quit while we were ahead. That and we only have six more years to go before Grant is off to college and Jane and I can vacation in south France without having to explain to a young boy why only the bottoms of the bathing suits are worn over there!

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Do you want a Band-Aid for that splintered femur?

2013-09-30T09:36:00.001-04:00

I have been trying to think of a way to approach a specific topic for the past few days, and although I have thought of many possibilities, none seem to work. Therefore, I am just going to get on my soapbox and chat away. This topic has been on Facebook, MSN, and every newspaper in the US (and probably many media sources overseas), for years, but most recently it seems to have taken a shot of that 5-hour energy drink because I am seeing it everywhere I turn. The topic I am referring to is gun control. Whether you are for or against gun control, please read this entry in its entirety before jumping to conclusions or sticking to a particular stance.

Now, I know what you are thinking...you are talking to your computer screen saying, "but, Larry, your blog is about your son who has Asperger's and not about gun control. This makes no sense and you shouldn't be talking about that sort of thing here!" That might be true, but this is my blog and I can cry if I want to! Okay, back to being serious...just give me a chance to explain my logic...and I think you will discover how gun control relates to Aspies.

If you know me, you know that I do not care for or follow politics. I do not believe there is an absolute right or wrong way to do something. Some see that as accepting and some see that as non-committal. You can pick which one you think it is. But, I do, wholeheartedly, believe our politicians (and many citizens) would rather put a Band-Aid on a splintered femur just to say they did something to help the problem. Yeah, you wasted time, money, and resources and guess what, that broken femur is still broken and hurts like hell when you move it. Why not address the problem at its root? If you don't, the problem keeps coming back.

Here's one, one day I was driving down the highway with my son. We were on our way to school, the traffic was bad, but I was still traveling at or around the speed limit. I suddenly heard what appeared to be a massive "clank" followed by a "bang" then a rhythmic "clop...clop...clop...clop." I looked in my rear-view mirror and noticed some type of automotive part flopping around the asphalt, bouncing forward trying desperately to catch up to no avail. When it realized the attempt to reunite with its other family members was futile, it lay slumped in despair, hugging the yellow line for comfort, only to be squashed by an 18-wheeler going 70 mph.

The "clop...clop...clop...clop" carried on and would not go away. There must be a serious problem, I thought. The noise is not going away, the part clearly came from my car, but I am still moving forward so it can't be that bad. The constant noise then became irritating. I need to fix this problem, I thought, and quickly. At this time, I discovered the solution...I turned up the radio loud enough where I no longer heard that dreadful "clop...clop...clop...clop." Problem solved!

Pretty silly, isn't it. I solved the problem by pretending the clopping sound wasn't there and replaced it with the radio. I put a Band-Aid on the problem. Guess what, it didn't fix a damn thing.

But, Larry, how does this relate to gun control? Glad you asked. But first, let's look at these mass-shootings and where the gun violence is coming from. In Connecticut (Sandy Hook), the shooter was an Aspie, or at the very least, had mental health issues that were noticed in previous years but, apparently, were not correctly treated. In the Navy Yard shootings, the gunman was previously released from the Navy after showing patterns of misbehavior aka potential behavioral health issues. In 2012, a gunman whose lawyers described him as having a mental illness, shot over 80 people, killing 12, in a theater. Obviously this is just a sampling of many other events such as these, but the similarities should be obvious - they all had some sort of mental / behavioral health issue.

It has been reported that 75% of all gun related deaths are gang related. I'm just guessing on this one, but, I don't think any of the guns used by gangs are registered. Okay, maybe a handful might be registered, but do you really think gun control will affect gangs? Yeah, probably not.

Australia put into place a strict gun control policy that eliminated private gun ownership. The idea was to curb violent crimes and gun related crimes in the country. I believe in facts, so what I am about to write needs a disclaimer - I did not take the time to verify the following information and cannot validate its accuracy nor do I know when the information was first published; however, from the time the gun ban started until the time of the news report in Australia, armed robbery had risen 69%, assault with a gun went up 28%, gun related murders went up 19% and home invasions increased by 21%. Hmmm, that one didn't turn out the way they had planned, did it? The real question is, where did the criminals get all of these guns if they were banned? Clearly, "eliminating" guns did not work.

So, by now you probably think I am against gun control. Well, yes, but that is NOT the issue here. Applying gun control is putting a Band-Aid on a much more serious issue. The real issue is mental health. While we are putting all of our time, effort, and money into debating the gun control issues, the mental health issues get put aside.

In addition, there is the term "slippery slope" If every gun, registered or not, magically disappeared today, do you think the killings would stop? No, because knives, baseball bats, iron poles, swords, arrows, and so on still exist, as do the mental health issues. Does this mean we should ban knives, too? Would that mean I would have to turn in my 14 inch chopping knife that I use for meal prep? Hmmm, no more baseball bats? The problem is not the weapon. The weapon is a tool at rest at all times until someone uses that tool. The problem, therefore, is the user. Fix the disease, not the symptom.

We do not put Band-Aids on broken limbs and turning up the radio will not fix a car problem. If a problem itself is not addressed, the problem will never go away. Tools are not the problem, the user is the problem. Fix the user and the rest will follow.

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

What just happened?

2013-08-23T19:53:00.001-04:00

Wow. What just happened? A year and a half went by in the blink of an eye...I should have been fired a long time ago. Almost a year and a half without an entry...shame on me. I do have a pretty good excuse, though. Let me tell you about it...

Oh, and this post will have nothing to do with Asperger's...aside from the fact that it's just a glimpse of "normal" family life (is there ever a normal?)...This one is just me filling in the blank year. (Ugh. Year. Where did the time go?)

As you may or may not know, we moved to North Carolina a while back (three years ago October 1st). We had been renting a house and looking to purchase our own place. Our lease on the rental was coming to an end and we were extremely anxious to get out of the "crap shack" as my son so eloquently put it one day. He did not exaggerate either. To be honest, he may have given it too much praise with his description.

At one time, it was a beautiful home, but the slum-lord, uh, I mean landlord, neglected the home so much the problems were not easily seen until we had moved in - things like, leaking windows, leaking roof, furnace not working, refrigerator dying on us the day before Christmas, and so on became apparent as the days went on. This place is also where my wife fell down the steps and broke her ankle in three places four months after moving in - so the mojo/juju/lovely home-sweet-home feeling was definitely not there for her. In addition, this is where we first started the "steps" for our son, so he was not too thrilled with that place either. Me? Well, I had a garage to store my non-running Jeep, so I was happy there...more or less.

Needless to say, we were all anxious to find a place of our own. Early in the year, we began our search. We looked at homes five miles to fifty miles away from where the rental home was. Our search led us to a mountain retreat setting smack dab in the middle of town to a home in the neighboring county. The only home, in my opinion, that was in the running was the mountain retreat home...but there was a catch.

The mountain retreat home was, literally, walking distance from the shopping center and main thoroughfare. It was 4000+ square feet (about 2000 more than what we need) of beautiful hardwood floors, five bedrooms, three levels, a bonus room, a huge kitchen, and a view that would knock your socks off. Deer, horses, hawks, and a number of other furry creatures roamed the spacious back yard...which was plainly visible from every room in the house (except for those up front, of course). No other home could be seen from any window...it was a bit of heaven.

However...it was a short sale...and it needed some work...okay, it needed A LOT of work...new roof, new windows, new exterior everything. The house was falling apart, but the inside was in good shape...except for the extreme need of updated appliances. The asking price was within our budget and well below market value, so, we put in an offer...

When we did not hear anything for a few days, our agent called the listing agent and learned it would take six to eight weeks to hear back from the bank...huh? Really? And they wonder why they are having problems with all of the foreclosures and short-sales? Really? Come on, folks.

About the time we made an offer, we looked at another home. This one was not as big (but still much bigger than we need) and did not have the scenery, but it had a large semi-flat yard, was in a beautiful neighborhood, and the investment opportunity was huge. My wife loved it, I liked it, and my son...well, one day he liked it, the next he hated it (I think one of the reasons for the hate was because it has two sets of stairs), so his vote didn't count. :) We went back a few times to look and each time, it felt more and more like home. Yes, it needed some work, but not nearly as much as the mountain retreat home. Well, that is what we thought, anyway...

When I told the real estate agent to be certain to include the John Deere riding mower in with the offer (there was NO way I was going to use my 19 inch push mower on almost an acre of land!), he looked at me like I had three heads. The offer was a bit low so we figured a counter offer would come in shortly. In the meantime, we had an inspection completed; which I was a part of since I was, at that time, attending class to become a licensed inspector. With my teacher performing the primary inspection, a trainee following along on his own, and my rookie eyes, we would know exactly what we were getting...or so we thought.

The inspection came back with around 35 items that needed to be attended to. Of those 35 items, only 5 were significant enough to cause a concern. Malfunctioning toilets were not on the list. This was exactly what I had hoped for - a list of silly items that were easy enough for me to fix, but sounded bad enough to decrease the purchase price, or, in other words, a bargaining chip, or 30. So, we contacted the seller, explained the "problems" and went back to negotiating. Eventually, we all came to an agreement, and we were on our way to buying our "Forever Home" in North Carolina.

Being the easy-going guy that I am, there were only two things I specifically wanted...1. the riding mower, and 2. the settlement date could not, under any circumstances, be on April 13th (which happened to be a Friday that year). April 12th, no problem. April 16th, sure. April 9th, absolutely. As a matter of fact, the ninth was the chosen date and everyone was in agreement, except for the financial bozos - who, I might add, had almost six months to prepare for this. Apparently, they needed six months and four days...

So, at 5:30 pm on April 13th, my wife, son, and I (no, our agent didn't make it) headed to the lawyer's office to sign the paperwork. I guess looking at it in baseball terms, I was doing pretty good batting 1 for 2, or .500 for an average. I will consider the mower a triple, but the settlement date was a strike-out turned into a triple play by the other team, so that .500 average is a bit inflated. Perhaps you might notice I am sports oriented and therefore, by default, a bit superstitious. Needless to say, I was not happy about settling on a "Forever House" on a Friday the 13th. But, superstitions are just silly mental blocks, right?

At this point, one might assume all went well...you know what happens when you assume things, right? We found out the sellers had already signed the paperwork and, therefore, were not present. Then we found out we did not receive almost $6,000 we were promised for repairs at settlement. Think it stops here? Not hardly...next, we discovered if we did not sign the contract, we could be held liable and could be in big trouble. We were stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, we might not ever see the 6k, on the other, we might lose the house and still have to pay for everything, and on yet another (yes, I know that makes three hands, silly), we did not really have a choice at this point. But wait, there's more...

So the paperwork is signed, the documents copied, and the lawyer says thank you for doing business with her and have a great weekend...wait a minute, don't we get keys, or something like that? At 7:00 pm on Friday the 13th of April, the lawyer says, no, I do not have any keys to give you. Lovely.

Being the observant one, and one to ask a multitude of what appear to be silly and useless questions, I learned early on during the whole process what the combination to the key box was, so I was not terribly worried about getting in. We had already decided to change the locks immediately after moving in so the lack of a key was not terribly significant. At this point, it was just par for the course.

The first thing I did when I got to our new home was check the garage. Okay, phew, the mower is still there! Woohoo! Maybe there is hope after all! The three of us took our first tour in our new home (we didn't own it the first nine times we looked at it! Geez, do I have to explain everything to you? Come on, stick with the group!), excited to take possession, despite the near FUBAR we had just experienced. One of us, and I honestly do not remember which one of us, decided to plant the flag, so to speak, in the upstairs bathroom. Yes, this was truly OUR home now.

About 45 minutes later, we decided we should get something to eat. At dinner we each took turns discussing our plans, wish lists, and projects we planned to do with the house. Pool, second garage/workshop/pool house, new roof, new deck, new windows, bump outs, painting, and many more ideas were thrown out there. Most were dreams, some were practical, some were necessities, others were pretty far-fetched. We had it all planned out...but we forgot it was Friday the 13th, and we didn't have the $6,000, nor did we have any keys...but we owned the house!

Saturday morning on the 14th, I rolled out of bed, way too early. I was on my way to my inspection class at the local community college; yes, the same one I spoke about earlier with the home inspection. Half way through the class, I realized I had a voice mail. Since I did not have service inside the classroom, I have no idea when the actual call was made; but regardless of the time, I soon realized it was an urgent message. My wife had called to say that she and Grant were at the house and the ceiling in the kitchen is leaking - get here quickly. On a good day with no traffic, I would be 30 minutes away. I immediately called her back, discovered the toilet (yes, the one we "planted the flag" in) was overflowing, and was coming through the ceiling in the kitchen, leaking all over the hardwood floors. Actually, when I say leaking, I should say it looked like a waterfall after the winter's thaw in some northern territory's mountain range...yes, it was a steady pour, not a leak. I tried to explain to my wife how to turn off the water to the toilet to minimize the damage but the old plumbing would not budge for her. I told her to gather anything available (fortunately, the previous owners left a bunch of buckets - among other odds and ends) to catch the water and I would be there as soon as I could. I made it home in 18 minutes that day.

After turning off the water upstairs, I cut an eight by eight foot section of saturated ceiling Sheetrock to help dry out the area. On a positive note, I learned which way the floor joists were laid...of course I could have figured that out without the leak, but I digress. Apparently, the toilet, which did indeed (thank God!) flush the "flag" before it decided to malfunction, had met it's final flush and had been running since the previous night - yes, the previous night being Friday the 13th, I might add in case you forgot.

At this point, I was flabbergasted. Realizing this little issue was beyond my abilities (I have...errr, HAD no experience with hardwood floors other than refinishing a small room) I called the insurance company and submitted our first ever claim. After a $2,500 deductible, hours spent prepping - patching, 1990's era wallpaper removal, and more patching - and painting every one of the first floor walls since the entire first floor was going to be redone since it is all hardwood and a simple repair would not work correctly thus taking advantage of not worrying about spilling paint on the floors, a month and two weeks later we moved in. How was that for a run-on sentence!?!?!

Now I realize that only covers about a month or two since my last post but if I tried to explain what happened after that little fiasco, I would probably qualify for a novella writer and not a blogger. I am already pushing the limits, so for now, I will close, but I promise, my reasoning for not writing is justified...well, mostly justified, anyway. Perhaps I will write more about the gap in later installments and I will certainly get back to writing about a pondering dad with an Aspie child, so until then, sorry for the delay and, as always, thanks for reading!

Oh, and yes, we did receive the money owed to us, but I think it was out of pity since they did not have to pay after we signed the paperwork...and one more thing...about the time the repairs were finishing up, I learned that we did not technically own the house on the 13th since the paperwork was not filed until the following Monday the 16th, which means we, again, technically, could have turned around on Saturday morning after witnessing the indoor pool, canceled the contract and left...yeah, even if I knew that at the time, I wasn't going to be the one to tell my wife she isn't getting her house...I ain't stupid!

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

April showers bring...

2012-04-01T17:07:00.001-04:00

This morning I was reading an article on a popular news website. The article was about healthy eating and how some of the foods we believe to be bad for us are actually quite nutritious. The article detailed many misconceptions about certain foods such as; dark chocolate, wine, ice cream, and a handful of others that I cannot remember at this time. Needless to say, I was thrilled to see ice cream was on the list!

After reading the article, my family and I decided to head out to the local greasy spoon for breakfast. Once in a while we like to splurge and give our bodies a "wake-up" brunch that consists of fatty, greasy, high-cholesterol, artery clogging food. Today was that day...and boy, was it good!

During our brunch, I was telling my son about the good news - since he is too young to drink wine, I omitted that part, but proceeded to tell him about the dark chocolates and ice cream. I explained to him the benefits of ice cream and suggested he pick out a few flavors for dinner next week. As his eyes widened, he enthusiastically started naming off a plethora of Ben & Jerry's flavors. "I want Phish Food and Triple Carmel Chunk and vanilla, no, no vanilla, but yes to chocolate, and Phish Food, and there are so many I can't remember them all!" he said in one breath. "No, really, Dad? Are you serious?" he questioned. I replied, "Yes, the article said how healthy ice cream is for us, so I thought we could just make our dinners this week be nothing but ice cream. So, what other flavors do you want?" At about the middle of that last question, I suddenly felt my wife's hand hit my leg under the table.

"I want Phish Food, and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, and Chocolate Fudge Brownie, and Phish Food, and maybe vanilla. I don't know if I want vanilla or not, but I want Phish Food!" he repeated. Cool as a cat I just looked at him, nodded my head and said, "Okay, I'll get those. Maybe we will have the Phish Food on Friday."

"Really? Are we really going to have ice cream for dinner every night this week?" he asked with a hopeful but perplexed look.

I said, "Sure, but first you have to tell me what today is."

"Sunday." he responded with an even more perplexed look on his face, wondering what the day had to do with anything.

"Sunday, the what?" I asked.

"Ummm, Sunday the 1st of April...oh man!" he replied.

Yeah, I got him.

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Update on the Token Economy

2012-02-23T20:36:00.001-05:00

Once again, it seems I wrote an entry a few months ago and neglected to post it. I'm blaming it on the ADD again (See? ADD can be useful in so many ways!). So, without further ado, here it is...

A little over a month has passed and our token economy (TE) is in full swing. I thought it would be a good idea to give an update for any of you interested in wondering how it is working. In a nutshell...better than expected, but also in need of some fine tuning.

When my wife and I started the TE, we went out of our way to give tokens for every possible good deed that our son performed. We were diligent, excited, and probably a little over-the-top about what we deemed token worthy. The idea was to get our son to realize how easy it was to earn a positive mark when positive actions are made with hopes that he would continue the positive behavior on his own. I am happy to report that it has worked...well, it has, at least, improved his morale and everyday behavior. Like any of us, he has his good days and bad, but overall, the TE has worked.

My son has asked, on a few occasions, how he could earn more tokens. My answer to that question was a simple, there is no way you can earn tokens other than by performing good deeds, doing the right thing because it is the right thing, or from well-intended actions that are from your heart. Performing tasks to get tokens will not earn tokens. In other words, you earn the tokens, you do not get them.

He did not understand this concept at first, but eventually grasped the idea. When he did something token worthy, we would give him a token and say something along the lines of, "You did a good job of putting your socks away without being asked, here's a token!" If he asked for a token after he put his socks away, he wouldn't get one. He learned quickly, and now does not ask for tokens. The idea is to reward good behavior because of his good choice, not because he made a choice to earn a token. Little by little, he began to understand - bad choices get bad consequences (steps) and good choices get good consequences.

I have seen some variations of the token economy where the parent will make a list of token chores, or they have explained what tasks will be token worthy, but we decided to separate the two and concentrate on allowing our son to think for himself and make positive, ethical, decisions. The chores are still a necessity, but they do not earn tokens; chores are done because that is what families do - work together. We also have jobs that he can do that are neither token paid nor are they chores; he gets real money for those...when he does them...or rather, if he ever does them (that is another blog-worthy story for a later date). So, tokens are earned for taking out the trash when it becomes full without being asked, or putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher without being asked, or being polite despite being in a crabby mood, and so on. Tokens are earned with his positive thoughts and actions.

As I mentioned above, the first few weeks we showered him with tokens. When he reached his first milestone - changing 25 tokens for a star - we made a big celebration for it and praised his ability to reach his goals. He was excited, of course, and was ready to spend his first star. I am going to blame my ADD and because I have slept since then, but I do not remember what his first "purchase" was. Oh...my wife just informed me that his fist "purchase" with his stars was a model that he and I can work on together. Hmmm, now I feel like a bad parent for not remembering THAT one! In any case, he was very excited to make a run to the local hobby store and pick out a model. The token economy came full circle.

UPDATE: So, as I mentioned in the first paragraph, I wrote the above (well, most of it, anyway) months and months ago but forgot to publish it. Since then, the token economy still works and is alive and well. Our son does not receive as many tokens now as he did when we first started the system, but not because of his poor choices; on the contrary, actually. His smaller good choices are now a part of everyday life...most of the time - he still has moments, like all of us do, but all-in-all, he is making good choices on a regular basis. As a result, we are trying to get him to think about constant self-improvement, so token worthy choices have now become things like, looking at people when he talks to them, or better yet, looking at all of the people involved in the conversation instead of focusing on just one (not an easy feat for an Aspie); or maybe a token worthy action might be to have a fuss-free weekend instead of a fuss-free afternoon. He has graduated from getting a token for picking up his socks without being asked to earning a token for putting away his socks, coat, shoes, and dirty clothes - without being asked, and he earns five tokens for receiving a 100% on his science test (actually, he even did the extra credit and ended up with 110%!) instead of a token for turning in his homework on time. Something that has not changed, however, is how he earns tokens - we decide based on his choices not because he did something just to get a token.

In summary (I've always wanted to say that outside of a school paper...), the system works. Follow the directions, stick to it, modify it how ever you want, but try it, you'll like it (especially if your kid's name is Mikey - sorry, had to do it). If you stick to the overall concept and stay on it early on, I think you will be amazed at the outcome. Although this practice works great for Asperger's kids, I imagine with a little modification it would work equally as well for any kid...and maybe some adults, too! (Actually, my wife is giving two hours off to her staff next week IF they all meet a specific deadline...token economy in action in the workplace!)

Let me know how it is working for you...assuming you are trying it, of course!

As always, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Crumb Coated Cod

2012-02-11T19:41:00.000-05:00

My son tends to fixate on things. From what I understand, this is a common trait for Aspies. Since this is going to be a dinner topic entry, I will use a food related example. A typical conversation may go something like this:

Son - Dad, what's for dinner?

Me - Hamburgers.

Son - What's in the hamburger?

Me - Meat. (me being a smart-ass)

Son - What else are you putting in the meat?

Me - Spices.

Son - What spices?

Me - Garlic powder, pepper, and salt.

Son - What type of pepper are you putting in?

Me - Black pepper.

Son - I don't like black pepper.

Me - You liked it just fine the past five meals we had.

Son - But I don't like black pepper today. Now I'm going to have steps because I won't eat my dinner. Do you have to fix hamburgers? (This is where the pouting and frustration begins)

Me - Go play a game or watch TV and don't worry about what is in the meal.

Five minutes later...

Son - Dad, can you use something other than black pepper?

Me - No.

Son - (frustration levels rising again...anger brewing)

Four minutes later...

Son - Dad, what if you put oregano in the meat instead of black pepper?

Me - Wouldn't work the same.

Son - But I don't like black pepper.

Me - (My frustration levels start to churn) Just watch your TV.

Three minutes later...

Son - Dad...

And so the story goes. It does not matter what ingredients I use, what meal I prepare, or where we go, he finds something that he does not like and fixates on that one particular item. The obsession is not always negative. He also does this with Legos, Star Wars, WWII, and any thing he takes an interest in - good or bad. We try to "bump" him off the topic, but it does not always work. So, I devised a devious plan...muhahaha...

Each week, I make a menu of dinner plans for the upcoming week and post in on the fridge door in plain sight. I do not do this so that everyone can see what we are having; no, I do this because I will not remember what I have planned and will never cook the ingredients that I just purchased from the grocery store. The side affect to this is, everyone can see what we are having...including my son.

This past week, I wanted to prepare a cod recipe. From a previous experience, I realized I could not write "Cod" on Friday's date, so I nicknamed it; "3C w/Orzo AR 1" was all I wrote. Fortunately, my ADD brain was able to remember that "AR 1" meant the Allrecipes website print out. Once my son saw the planner, he zeroed in on Friday's meal.

Son - What's for dinner on Friday, Dad?

Me - You will find out. Don't worry about it. I really think you will like it so do not fixate on it. This is going to be one of those meals that you get a check mark for trying (a new idea from the nutritionist - try a new meal without fussing, get a check mark. Get 14 check marks, get a prize...so far we are up to two check marks and it has only been a week and a half!)

Just hang out in the living room, no peeking, and no fixating. It is breaded, so I know you will like it. I am not going to tell you what is in the dinner, so don't ask. You need to try it before I tell you what it is. (Yeah, I didn't think it would work either)

Son - Okay.

Me - (Thinking - wow, that was easier than I expected!)

So, on with the recipe...

Crumb Coated Cod - aka 3C w/orzo AR 1

Ingredients -

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons water

1 envelope Italian salad dressing mix

2 cups crushed stuffing mix

4 (6 ounce) fillets cod (I used Kirkland/Costco frozen brand. I think there are 5 or 6 fillets in a bag)

Directions - (It doesn't get much easier than this)

In a shallow bowl, combine the oil, water and salad dressing mix. Place the stuffing mix in another bowl. Dip fillets in salad dressing mixture, then in stuffing. Place on a greased baking sheet. Bake at 425 degrees F for 15-20 minutes or until fish flakes easily with a fork.

That's it.

I used olive oil instead of veggie oil, and seasoned bread crumbs instead of stuffing, mostly because we already had those ingredients and I didn't want to spend the money on similar ingredients. I did double the dressing mix, oil and water mixture, but I wish I hadn't. I ended up having about 3/4 more than I needed, so I poured the remaining mixture in with the fillets before placing them in the oven. This also took care of the "greased pan" item.

I was not able to find the nutritional information, but the bread crumbs did not make a very heavy coat, and the rest of the ingredients are pretty good for you...except, maybe, the dry salad dressing mix. Other than that, I would guess that this was a pretty healthy meal. I added whole wheat orzo, can corn with dill, and baked beans (what? the can had been sitting in the pantry long enough and I wanted them!). So, I covered the grains, protein, and veggies. Well, at least I think I did. Hey, it was colorful, at least.

The verdict

It is very important to remember that my wife and I do not really like fish. We will eat it, but we are not crazy about it. As a matter of fact, the ONLY reason we are eating it is because of that stupid health kick/marathon thing I am doing.

My wife: She gave it a 5 out of 5 stars. This is actually a very rare occurrence for her. Most of the meals I fix get a 4 from her, some get a 3 or less, but few get a 5. No, I am not that bad of a cook...she and I are just very picky. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Me: I gave it a 4.5 out of 5. I thought it was very good, but I liked a different recipe for cod that we tried a month or so ago better. I think the beans may have factored into the final score as well. Alone, the beans would have received a 5 out of 5, but not so much with cod. Lesson learned.

My son....drum roll, please...3.5 out of 5. He really enjoyed it, until he found out it was cod. Then he changed his score to the 3.5. Which, if you think about it, is still pretty good. Granted, he did not eat a lot, but he had what would amount to two or three bites for an adult. This may not seem like much, but after what we have been through in the past few months, this is a huge step forward.

Overall - YUM! It will be fixed again. I think it will still need to be called 3C, though...at least one more time!

Here's the link, if you are interested...Crumb-Coated-Cod

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Am I a bad parent because it makes me laugh?

2012-02-04T18:24:00.000-05:00

(Alternate title: Thank God my parents did not think of this one...)

Although I cannot take credit for thinking up the following consequence of poor behavior, I can say that it is extremely effective and sometimes makes me chuckle...ok, maybe it makes me laugh so much that tears run down my cheek...does that make me a bad parent? I can justify my behavior by the success of the "time" for the "crime," though, which would make me a good parent....right? Don't answer that, I'll just keep believing its true.

First, let me describe the consequence; in a word, "stairs" aka, "steps." Never before has one simple word brought a temper tantrum to such an abrupt halt for a ten year old boy. Usually, just the mention of "stairs" is enough to stop his misdemeanors cold, but if he carries on, he must go up and down the staircase for the amount determined by the boss (Mom and/or Dad). The total amount of stairs is based on his actions that led to the mentioning of the terrible word, by said boss. In other words, if he really messes up, he gets lots of stairs, which he hates...of course.

One "dose" of the stairs equals a trip up and down the staircase. He must put both feet on the floor at the top of the steps, and at the bottom, before one stair can be counted. These rules are not to be broken and must be enforced. In addition (this one was my genius at work), he must not touch the walls of the staircase at any time, or he will have to do the whole stair over - this has since eliminated any and all fingerprints about four feet above the floor in the staircase! (He is, however, allowed to use the bannister since his mother recently fell down those stairs, broke her ankle and now has a huge phobia about it...)

We do not use the stairs every time, and we do not abuse them either. The stairs can be done all at once, or little by little, but the catch is that he is on complete and total restriction until all stairs are complete. If he chooses to wait a day, that is fine, but he gets absolutely no privileges until he pays his dues. In the event that we choose not to sentence him to stairs, he gets to alphabetize the bookcase or the CD case (I own over 800 CDs and my wife has close to that many books), sometimes by author's last name, sometimes by author's third letter of last name, or sometimes by title. Dirty words coming out of his mouth? He gets to clean the trash can...and it needs to be spotless. In a nutshell, you don't need stairs to apply the method! Whatever it is, the time fits the crime.

When he is in the process of completing the stairs, he is usually moaning and groaning about the mean person who thought up the consequence of stairs and how they must love to torture kids (I think that person is a genius). This alone is enough to bring a smile to my face, but not because I am sadistic; rather, I smile because I know he is thinking about his actions that led to the stairs. I try to make him realize there is a reaction to every action and that he needs to be aware of his part in that reaction, hoping to teach him accountability, a trait that we do not see often in today's society. I can almost see his mind gears turning round and round, making sense of the whole situation...which is a huge relief to a parent whose kid is smarter than he is.

When he has completed the steps, he must (on his own) apologize, name the reason for the apology, and ask for forgiveness.

Ironically, in a sense, we are breaking him down, just to rebuild him back up again. This time we can make him better, stronger, faster...but we are not going to call him Steve Austin. (Yes, you have to be of a certain age of generation to get that reference!) The point is not to make him complete unjustified physical work, but to make him think twice before he acts the next time. The stairs provides a good source of exercise (so that candy he just took without asking is now exercised off) and a tangible consequence.

Tonight, he earned 30 stairs and alphabetizing two shelves of books. I'm sure it won't be the last time he does a round of stairs, but at least it has made him think a little bit before he breaks a rule, which means he is learning. Now, he is determining if the crime is worth the time, before he tries to get away with something. Which is exactly why I'm so thankful to have found this parenting tool...I was running out of ideas! And yes, I am VERY happy my parents did not have this tool when I was a kid!

UPDATE - (Can this really be an "update" if I neglected to post the above when I actually wrote it - about eight months ago?)

The steps method has proven to be very useful and has become a solid method of showing the crime is not always worth the time. For example, one of our rules is that the fridge in the garage is off-limits. This is where we store any goodies such as cake, ice cream, and yummies that need to be controlled. The payment for stealing something from that fridge was, typically, 25 steps. One day, however, about a month ago, my son decided the cake in the fridge was worth the 25 steps. He also decided he was going to confess right away. Kudos to him for being honest. The conversation went something like this:

Son - Dad, I took some cake from the fridge this morning. Should I do my 25 steps now?

Me - No, but you can do your 50 steps, now.

Son - WHAT? It is supposed to be 25 steps!!!

Me - No, it is what we decide it should be.

Son - BUT....BUT...

Me - The idea is to get you to stop stealing things. Just because you thought that piece of cake was worth 25 steps does not make it okay to steal things. Now you have 50 steps, which will, hopefully, make you understand the principle of the matter.

Son - whine...moan...fuss...grumble, grumble...

He hasn't stolen from the garage fridge since then.

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Nutrition and Aspies

2012-01-25T17:24:00.000-05:00

Kids are usually finicky to begin with when it comes to food. If you have pizza, chips, cheese, peanut butter and jelly, a hot dog, a hamburger, macaroni and cheese, and maybe some spaghetti, you are most likely going to get the kid to eat. Chances are I will eat, too, if that is all you had, but the problem is these items are not the best diet for growing folks (yes, I can still grow...unfortunately, it is my waistline that grows and not my height, anymore). We all know kids need a healthy diet to grow to their fullest potential, but getting them to eat the good stuff is nothing short of a major undertaking. If your kid is an Aspie, multiply that undertaking by a thousand.

Then you have the 40-something adult who has never dieted in his life, would eat a pint (sometimes two) of Ben & Jerry's ice cream each evening for four nights in a row (What? The grocery store had a BOGO sale!) on a regular basis, ordered and ate two Little Caesar's pizzas (back when they came side by side) plus garlic cheese bread for dinner, once had three steaks and five baked potatoes for dinner (much to the dismay of his sister and brother-in-law), would create pizza masterpieces when he worked for Domino's (mounds of cheese, bacon, hamburger, pineapple, ham, pepperoni, and whatever else I could pile on before heading home) to enjoy after the late shift, and stayed very clear of anything that closely resembles broccoli, cauliflower, mushrooms, and any other healthy food that grossed me out. Yeah, I was far from a poster child for a health campaign. Well, that's not true, I could have been the left side of the poster...you know, the "Before" side. Don't get me wrong, I am still not on the "Right" side...but I am working on being less of the "Before" and more of the now. In short, if I wanted it, I ate it...and didn't care. But, I was also very active. I played soccer, softball, football, rode my bike, and lifted many 12 to 16 oz glasses filled to the brim with chilled golden nectar. Although, I did graduate to more of a brown nectar that comes from Boston as I matured...brewer...patriot...

Wow...ADD moment, sorry...let's get back on topic...

Now that I am no longer as active and my jeans do not fit like they did three years ago (I cannot figure out why that is...), I have decided to lose the gut, eat better, and run a half marathon in the fall. Huh? What was that? Yeah, a half marathon. HAHAHA...no, seriously. Obviously, I cannot do this weighing in at fifty pounds overweight, and I am tired of my knee (the one I blew out playing soccer many, many moons ago) telling me everyday that I am overweight...not to mention it is pretty embarrassing to be out of breath after climbing a flight of stairs. Yep...that's what I am going to do.

So, the first part of the journey was to buy an elliptical machine. Remember, I have a bad knee, so I need something to help lose the weight with the least amount of impact...until I can get back to a decent weight...then it doesn't matter! Woohoo! Bring on the treacherous terrain! Well, maybe we will do that after the half marathon...Anyway...elliptical machine...got it.

Second step - break up with Ben & Jerry and all of their friends. Yeah...ummm...that one is a lot easier said than done. I really miss those guys. :( Excuse me for a moment while I wipe the tear forming in my eye...

Okay, I'm back...

Third step - cook healthful meals.

Fourth step - Wait, I thought I was getting back on topic...isn't this a blog about an Aspie kid?

Why, yes, it is, and now we are back on topic.

If I am being conscious about my diet or not, fixing meals my son will eat has always been a chore and a half. Well, not always; there was a time when he would try just about anything. For example, his favorite pizza topping USED to be spinach. Unfortunately, those days are long gone. One day he likes chicken, tomorrow he hates it. He loves Grandma's breaded pork chops (as do I), but if I fix anything that has pork in it, forgetabboutit! This is why I need to be creative...and maybe tell a white lie or two...okay, they are full fledged lies.

If pork is on the menu, it becomes...umm...chicken, yeah, that's it...it's chicken. Pork BBQ is easy since the BBQ sauce masks the coloring. Since he likes Sloppy Joe's and beef BBQ...you got it, that's what it is...sort of. Cod? That one was difficult and I did not succeed with fooling him. But, man, was it good! All that means is I have to be more creative with Cod in the future (and, by the way, I'm open for suggestions!). The biggest problem is that he is very smart. He can usually figure out the true ingredients. Which tells me I need to step up my game a little.

Some of the techniques I have used in the past (other than lying) include; pureeing the questionable food item, disguising it as something else (see Pork BBQ above), sneaking it in when nobody is looking (TVP - Textured Vegetable Protein - more on that later), bribery, and the super fantastic idea of steps (I just realized I have neglected to write about this fantastic tactic! I will devote a full page to this because it is so incredibly amazing...seriously!).

In the effort to get him to make healthy choices, he and I devised a plan to track his eating habits for a week. It was actually his idea, so I ran with it. I explained how calories are what you want to watch, while keeping in mind that some calories are empty calories and serve no useful purpose while others are good calories. I also went into carbs, sugars, protein, veggies, dairy and all of that other good stuff.

I am not a nutrition expert, but I've got enough knowledge to get him started. I pulled up the "myplate" diagram from www.choosemyplate.gov and tried to explain the different segments and what balance means. The best part about all of this is, he was/is actually interested...well, he was for a moment or two. After logging in the first day's list, he promptly asked if he could have a piece of chocolate covered marshmallow (50 empty calories in one serving...which is about 1 inch by 1/2 inch in size).

So, since this is a work in progress, and I am guessing I am not the only one who has troubles fixing meals their kid will eat...let me rephrase that...fixing healthy, well-balanced meals that their kid will eat, I am going to try something. My plan is to continue fixing the healthy meals and report back. If the meal works, I'll explain the process with the ingredients. If it doesn't, I'll refrain from the writing the entire recipe, but will still tell you where you can find it...if you so desire. I hope that this will give other parents of Aspie kids (and non-Aspie kids, of course) a way to get their kids to eat healthy meals. There is one catch, though...the meals must be tasty. I love to eat, and I want to lose weight, but there is no way on earth that I will eat nasty tasting food, just to shed a few pounds!

As always, I am open for suggestions and thank you for reading!

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Even Santa is Outsourcing!

2011-12-17T16:58:00.001-05:00

There is a good chance I will butcher this story since it is a recollection of a conversation that took place between my son and my wife about three years ago, but I think it is worth sharing, and I reserve the right to use creative license since this is my blog and I also reserve the right to use run-on sentences since, yes, this is my blog and no, it is not Mrs. Evans' English class. But, I will try to make each paragraph at least two sentences long in honor of Mrs. Evans, just to prove that I did learn a thing or two while attending high school.

As I mentioned, the following conversation took place about three years ago. It is entirely possible that the conversation took place on a sleepy afternoon (which makes the response by my wife even more impressive), on Christmas day. Regardless of the actual date, the conversation was about Santa and where he lives.

Apparently, Santa is now outsourcing his duties. Why wouldn't he? Really, if you think about it, he of all people should be outsourcing!

As you may know, my son is rather bright. His mind works in ways that few of us can comprehend, but the cool thing about that is, he asks some very important questions...some of which, we have no answers for. My wife is also very bright (which makes me the dimmest bulb in the bunch, I suppose...hmmm, I guess I didn't think that one through very well!), and she is able to think quickly...most of the time. Luckily, she thought very quickly and the result was the following conversation:

Son - Mom, Santa lives in the North Pole, right?

Mom - Yes, why?

Son - And Santa's elves make the toys he brings, right?

Mom - Yes, why?

Son - Then, why does this toy say "Made in China"?

Mom - (without hesitation and as deadpan as can be) You know how many kids Santa has to deliver to, right?

Son - Yeah...

Mom - Well, he has elves in every part of the world to help him on Christmas!

All I can say is, I am really happy she got that question and not me since I would have looked like a deer...uhhh, sorry, but I really must to go here...a reindeer caught in headlights. So, remember this, if your kid ever asks about Santa's elves in China, you now have a legitimate response and also know that Santa has elves everywhere which means Santa has eyes everywhere, too...so he really does know if you have been naughty or nice! Well, at least that is what we told our son...hehe.

Whatever special celebration you may have this time of year, I sincerely hope it is/was/will be the best yet but not as good as those to come.

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

All I want for Christmas...

2011-12-14T15:27:00.001-05:00

I like Ferrari. Some may say I am obsessed with Ferrari, but I think it is more like a healthy love than anything more serious than that. If I remember correctly, I started loving these exotic super-cars when I was about the age my son is now, so it should be no surprise to me that exotic matchbox cars were on his Christmas wish list this year. Sweet...Santa is going to have it easy this year!

My son, unfortunately, likes Lamborghini, but he also has a healthy love for Ferrari as well. Methinks that is more because I love them and not so much because he likes them. He has also mentioned that he plans to buy me one when he is old enough to drive. I have not had the heart to tell him that most likely will not happen, so instead I thank him and go off dreaming about buying one myself one day.

Speaking of buying one, let me go on record by saying that I will own one before I die. Okay, maybe it will not be the Enzo ($1,000,000 - give or take a few hundred thousand) or the one that started it all for me, a 288 GTO (Bargain priced at $300,000 - give or take a hundred thousand), but I will own one, even if it means buying a used 308 (think Magnum PI), for under 20 grand. Yes, for that money it might...errr...will need some work, but as long as I can tag it, insure it, and drive it, I will be perfectly happy.

Ferrari Enzo

Ferrari 288 GTO

But, sharing my dreams of Ferraris is not the reason for this post. No, it is more serious than that. This post is about the horrible state of affairs our world has entered. I realized just how depressing our world has become today while I was Christmas shopping. A tragedy indeed. A world where even dreams have become a part of the "green movement" where the finely tuned music of a 600 horsepower engine is becoming a distant memory. A world where it is nearly impossible to find an exotic Matchbox or Hot Wheels car. A world where Matchbox and Hot Wheels are marketing cars like the Toyota Prius and the Honda Insight...really? Is this really what our world has become? It is a sad, sad day, indeed.

When I was a kid, the main idea behind Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars was to be able to fantasize about owning cars that were cool and probably out of reach for the middle class citizen. Cars like Ferrari, Lamborghini, Porsche, and hot rods like Chevy, Pontiac, and Oldsmobile outnumbered the silly cars like the panel truck and police cars (although, some of the cop cars were pretty cool). Today, I challenge you to try to find a Ferrari in the car section of your local Target or Toys R Us stores...ain't gonna be there...and that is a shame.

A Prius??? Really??? Come on, now, are you kidding me? Okay, granted, the Prius is a pretty significant car for today's world with its green soul and trendy status, but make a Hot Wheels/Matchbox car in its likeness? And the Insight? Gag me with a spoon! Maybe, just maybe, I can see a Prelude or even the Accord, but the Insight? wow...what were they thinking? I can see it now, a little seven year old talking to his dad, "Dad, when I grow up, I want to own a Prius!" huh? say what? Phbbttttt!!!

Really???

So, as I rifled through the assortment of miniature cars hanging on the extend metal rod from the peg board wall, I quickly realized that Santa may have a problem this year. Foreign exotic Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars are apparently just as difficult to come by as the real thing. Fortunately, I have quite a collection of Ferraris from back in the day, back when Matchbox and Hot Wheels were actually cool. Unfortunately for my son, he isn't going to get any of those, but at least I can show him how cool these two companies were at one time.

This is about 1/1000th of my collection

No, this post is not really relevant to anything remotely related to Asperger's, except for the fact that my son's mind is set on receiving these exotic cars and will be crushed like a grape in France during wine season - thanks Matchbox and Hot Wheels for that, by the way. Instead, it is just a simple little rant about the ludicrousness of being politically correct in an area that is meant for fantasies and dreams. Don't get me wrong, political correctness is a necessity is some aspects of life, and if I have offended you in any way, shape, or form, please accept my...um...sincere apologies and know that I will promise to alter my personality for your benefit in the near future...but only after Matchbox and Hot Wheels start making cool cars again!

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Great...what did he do now?

2011-11-05T21:00:00.000-04:00

When we lived in Oklahoma, we tried to send our son to public school. Our reasoning was that he needed socialization skills and after many years of Montessori school we were looking forward to not having a tuition bill every month. The public school he would attend had a good reputation and everyone we talked to spoke very highly of the entire experience. So, needless to say, we were excited when second grade rolled around.

The excitement didn't last long. When my son acted up, we got a call from the school. From early on, I was receiving at least one call per week. Toward the end of the semester, I was receiving daily calls. The calls were from the teacher, the assistant, or the principal (or on a particularly bad day, all three) calling to let me know I had to either pick up my son from school early, or that we needed to have a meeting, or for some other reason that was behavioral related. Whenever the phone rang and the caller id said that it was the school calling, my automatic thought was, "Great...what did he do know?" Unfortunately, he was not being challenged enough, and as the saying goes, idle hands are the devil's playground.

By the end of the first semester, he was removed from the school. Honestly, I cannot remember if it was our choice or if the school politely and firmly "suggested" that we try a different system, but either way, in January, he was attending a different school...and the tuition payments resumed.

Our outlook was bleak, but some pretty heavy duty cosmic/karmic signs made us realize that the school we were looking at was the one for our son. For example, when my wife and I were checking out the campus, the second grade had only one spot open. That spot was in Mrs. "P.'s" class. When we entered the classroom, I noticed a map of Africa on the wall. The only part of the map that was written on was the area of Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire. I asked the Admissions person about the...umm...writing on the wall; she was not sure of the reasoning, but she thought Mrs. P. may have taught in a school in Abidjan. I met my wife in Abidjan when we were not even teenagers yet. Both of our parents were stationed in Abidjan, and as most American kids of US Diplomats, we attended the same American school. The school we went to (in 1982), had a teacher there (in the lower grades) named...are you ready for this?...wait for it...Mrs. P. At first we figured it was just a coincidence, but after looking through our yearbook (yes, from 1982), we found two Mrs. P.'s that could possibly be a match. So, when we set up the parent-teacher meeting, we brought the yearbook.

Now, don't forget, at this time we are in Oklahoma...as in "Okla-out in the middle of nowhere-homa." The middle of the United States...the closest major city is three hours away. You can drive for hundreds of miles and still not get anywhere...Don't get me wrong, I loved it there, but to meet someone who lived in Maryland was a very rare occurrence...now, we are talking about a completely different continent! Anyway, we asked which Mrs. P she was, and the memories suddenly flowed out as she thumbed through the black and white photos of kids photocopied onto white pages and glued into something slightly resembling a book. Yes, Mrs. P taught at the very school that my wife and I attended, and during the same years we were there, when we were 11 and 12 years old...in West Africa. (And, it turns out her son and husband played softball on the same weekend leagues that my dad and I were playing on at that time....)

So, when a sign this big is in front of you, you read it and you pay attention. The following two years at this school were awesome. Our son never had any major issues, his abilities were challenged, he grew mentally, and he was successful. I did receive a call or two regarding his behavior, and I still responded with the thought of, "Great, what did he do now?" but those calls were few and far in between. This school was perfect for him and life was good.

Then, we took a few giant steps backward...

When we moved to North Carolina, we looked at a few private schools, and found that most were not accepting new students. Our third choice was a Montessori style school. We figured our son would be comfortable with the setting since that was how he spent his first few educational years. We failed to recognize the signs this time...

When the school takes two months to decide if they are going to admit your child, don't do it. That big flashing neon sign that is essentially saying "WE DON'T WANT TO ACCEPT YOUR CHILD!!!" is a sign that you need to pay attention to. We didn't. Sitting in the carpool line, waiting to pick up my son and seeing the teacher walk toward my car...getting a call from the teacher or principal saying I need to pick up my son early...wondering if I am going to get a random call...no, that is not my idea of a good time. As soon as the teacher took one step toward my car..."Great, what did he do now?" Three months after admission, we were looking for a new school after being asked to leave.

The next school was nice. It had a great campus, a good feel to it, and seemed like a great match...at first. Three weeks later (but no phone calls or walking up to the car), our son was dismissed, again. Great, what did he do now? But, the only answer we received was that he had two incidents of disruptive behavior. Hmm, why didn't we get a call about those?

So, with less than two months remaining in the school year, I took over and tried to teach him what I could. Trust me, neither of us (me or my son), found this to be the optimum choice! But, at least he didn't get dismissed from this school, and at least I didn't walk up to my car to tell myself what he did this time...

We started looking for other schools as soon as possible. Two of our choices were already full, so they put us on a waiting list. Obviously, we did not have time to wait. We found a local private school that is specifically for kids with Asperger's. Homerun, right? Nope. However, the admissions director was a huge help and a source of hope for us. I do not recall the last time I had so much hope after being rejected! She, the admissions director, suggested that we work on the emotional side of our son before attending the Aspie school. We had two possibilities left...take a chance on one other local private school that caters to kids with special needs and tailors the curriculum to the individual student...(but this came with a very high tuition cost and no financial aid) or, our other option was to send him to a camp that cost just as much but had a loan program, and it would mean he would be away from us for six to eight weeks at a minimum. Neither option was ideal, to say the least.

However, what we think is not ideal is sometimes the best option regardless of what possibilities there are or are not...

We opted for the local school. We had to dissolve a retirement account to fund the tuition, but we knew something like this would have to be done. We also knew that our son was not a problem child and the outbursts were simply his way of releasing his loneliness and frustrations related the the move to NC. We saw the drastic change before, but it went from being bored and being a troublemaker to being a straight A student and being excited to attend class. The change from public school to private school in Oklahoma happened almost overnight. The right teacher and setting made the biggest difference in the world. Holding on to hope with barely enough grip to keep it alive, we hoped the change would happen again with the new private school in NC.

Around the second week of school, I was waiting in the carpool line to pick up my son. The teacher, "Ms. H", started walking toward the car with her hand on my son's shoulder. "Great, what did he do this time?" I couldn't help it, it was something that became a bad habit and something I wished hadn't become a part of his schooling experience. I rolled down the window, afraid of what she was going to say. She wanted to tell me how well my son was doing in school and how well he was adapting. Huh? Come again...Did she just come to the car to tell me he was doing well? Through the puddling tears welling up in my eyes, I think I must have looked like she shot me with a stun gun because that is how I felt. She came out to the car to tell me good news! And the best part, it has happened a few more times since then.

Although it hurts every time I write the check, the tuition payment is a pill that is a heck of a lot easier to swallow knowing that my son is receiving the education that is needed for him. The relief of not having the school think my son is a problem child and that they see his potential and are able to teach accordingly is well worth the money. Once again, almost overnight, my son is excelling in school because we were fortunate enough to find the right school for where he is in his life at the moment. We recognize, too, that we are lucky to be able to find a way to make private education an option. BUT -- you don't have to be rich to make this happen. Scholarships, financial aid...and even some divine intervention. The right things come along when they are needed.

If you are reading this and are in the Charlotte, NC area, and want more information, please send me an e-mail and I will be happy to share what information I have. If you have a child who is being labeled as a problem, or may have issues with school, I encourage you to dig a little deeper to see if there is a school near you that will be a better fit. The difference is truly amazing and cannot be expressed in words.

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Pink underpants

2011-10-10T18:31:00.000-04:00

1.existing perpetually; everlasting, especially without significant change.

2.intended to exist or function for a long, indefinite period without regard to unforeseeable conditions: a permanent employee; the permanent headquarters of the United Nations.

3.long-lasting or nonfading: permanent pleating; permanent ink.

Before I get started, I want to know if I have a case against Sharpie Permanent Markers...apparently, they ain't so "permanent" after all...

Wow...where do I start? My ADD brain is working overtime right now. I have so many things I want to say, but my fingers cannot type fast enough to keep up with my brain, at the moment..."at the moment"? Who am I kidding? My fingers can NEVER keep up with my brain! Anyway, I will try to maintain a logical sequence of events for this one, but there is a very good chance I will stray somewhere along the story line. Wish me luck (and good luck sticking with me, to you).

As you saw, the title of this entry is "Pink underpants." I am 6'3" and I have never thought of wearing anything that slightly resembles pink underpants. Not to say there is anything wrong with that, if you choose to do so, but pink is just not my color. Apparently, my son likes the idea of pink clothing. Well, indirectly, perhaps, but if what he did this past weekend is any indication of things to come, he better get comfortable with pink garments of all sorts.

Let me give you a little bit of background information before we go too far...

As some of you may know, my son (and many Aspie kids) tends to hyper-focus on things that interest him; Star Wars, military, Legos, and most recently Formula 1 racing. On occasion, he will go back to the days of his youth and revisit his obsession with knights. A few weeks ago, he re-examined his desire to draw on clothes (no, not just any clothing...these are designated to be drawn upon) and created a knight's shirt complete with a big red cross on the chest and back. It was an impressive drawing; he stayed in the lines, filled all of the blank spots, and was accurate with the shape of the cross (it looked like a "t" and not a "+"). As with most of his other costumes, it disappeared under his bed, in his closet, or wherever else he decides to toss the things when he doesn't want me to gripe about cleaning up his room. Little did I know, me telling him he would have stairs if I saw any of his clothes on the floor, would lead to pink underwear.

This past weekend came and went, but on Sunday my son impressed me by sorting his clothes (that were all in the laundry basket and NOT on his floor!) without being asked. Nice, neat piles were waiting for me by the laundry machines. As I added my wife's and my clothes to the mounds, the cleansing commenced. I usually double check pockets and color matches, even though my son's sorting ability is normally fairly accurate. I believe I can trace back the timeline of events to this point as being the first bell of class...a lesson I chose to, unfortunately, skip this day.

As with most laundry days, other things kept me from completing that oh-so-fun task in one day. We do not have so much laundry that it would normally take a day or two, but when someone with ADD (me) is trying to finish, it is almost guaranteed to take multiple days...even with just three or four loads. Anyway, Monday (today) comes and everyone is out of the house...which gives me a chance to catch up on things I did not finish during the weekend. I move in to tackle the laundry, determined to get it done before my son came home from school (it didn't happen, by the way).

I opened the dryer, removed the warm and fresh smelling clothes, piled them on top of the bed and began separating the shirts, hoping to minimize the wrinkles. The less I have to iron, the better. When I finished the shirts, I let the rest wait until after I loaded the wet clothes into the dryer and could put a new load into the washer. But, someone had other plans...

I reached into the washer and pulled a few clothes out to throw into the dryer. My mind saw something strange, but could not wrap itself around the simple concept that was placed before my eyes. I continued the action of bending down, removing wet clothes and transferring them to the dryer while my mind continued to process what it was seeing. At first, I thought to myself, "When did I put the reds in the wash?" Then I realized the reds were still piled on the floor, waiting to be washed.

As furious as I was, I was still able to maintain my composure (mostly) and use my super-sleuthing skills to determine which items of garments did not belong in the whites. Needless to say, my son had included his dirty knight's shirt - the one with the permanent red marker - in with the other, all white, clothes. In his defense, the shirt was 90% white...thus his reasoning of it must go in the white pile. Once I found the now pink shirt with the expertly drawn crosses, I removed it rather quickly...okay, fine, I threw it in frustration, but quickly realized it was not the end of the world. Fortunately, only one good shirt was in the load, multiple pairs of socks, and a few underpants.

I stood there, dumbfounded, thinking to myself, "$#!%, what am I going to do now? Mom never told me what to do if something like this ever happened...great, now I have to think for myself...grrrrrr." Apparently, I'm smarter than the average bear...the whites are white again...and the knight's shirt is in a different pile.

--- Update: I guess I spoke too soon...I just took the "whites" out of the dryer...yeah, um, not so white after-all. So, if anybody knows how to get pink out of white and gray clothes, please let me know. Thanks in advance.

When I confronted my son about his error in judgement, he wondered how many steps he had...when I told him, none, because I believe he did not mean to do what he did, he said, "oh, okay, well, I don't mind wearing pink."

On a positive note, October is breast cancer awareness month, so I suppose I could say that we are showing our support to save the tatas. Hmmm...now that I think about it, last Friday my son's school had a breast cancer awareness day...maybe my son planned the pink load after all! Whatever the case, he now knows, and I now know to continue double checking pockets and piles!

Oh, and don't worry Sharpie, I still think you are the bee's knees...even if you really aren't what you say you are! No lawsuit needed...

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

The Dance

2011-09-16T22:16:00.000-04:00

No, this entry is not about Garth Brooks' song, "The Dance", and, with any luck, the heart break won't be there either. But, this entry is about a dance, and it is about the way my son (my TEN year old son) asked a girl to go to a dance.

First, let me explain the situation/scene; my son's school does not have a large population of kids. In his class, there are five boys (including my son) and one girl. I feel sorry for the girl! There is one other class in his grade level that has mostly girls, but they are not important at this time...well, let me rephrase that, since every child is important...you knowing about that particular class is not important to understanding this story. There. Now that I have politically corrected myself, I can resume telling you what happened.

Two days ago, my son hopped into the car, after school, with enthusiasm. I asked how his day went and he immediately told me that his school was having a dance. I, of course, asked, "When?" He said he didn't know...but he was excited about it. So, I asked him if he wanted to ask someone to go to the dance with him. He shyly said yes. Who? I asked...having a pretty good feeling that it was one of the girl in his class...and no, I did not forget the "s" in girl...don't forget, I said there was only one to begin with...come on, stick with the group, here. Sheesh. Anyway, she was the one he wanted to ask, but he was not sure how he was going to do it.

Yesterday, when my son got in the car after I picked him up from school, his first word was "October." Of course, I asked, "What about October?" ... since 24 hours had passed and I had no clue what he was talking about. "The dance. The dance is in October." he said, as if I should have known that...which, I probably should have, and given a few minutes I may have been able to figure it out. But I'm a geezer, remember, and my memory ain't what it used to be. "Oh!" I replied. "What day in October?" "I dunno." he said. Hey, at least we narrowed it down to the month, right? Moving on...

Last night, my son asked me for advice; he wanted to know how he should ask his classmate to go with him to the dance. I told him he should ask her one on one, not with any of his or her friends around, and just say something like, " Hi (insert girl's name here). I was wondering if you were going to the dance with anyone and if not, would you like to go with me?" I figured, he's 10...he's got time to learn how to be more suave, so I gave him the basics. He then asked his mother, who said something girly like, "Write her a note with the question and a check-box so she can choose yes or no." (Note to self -- future blog on gender differences and the pain...I mean, FUN...they bring about.)

Well, apparently, my son is smarter than I look. He did both...sort of. This morning, when I came downstairs to check on him, he boldly told me he was writing "the girl" a poem. Hmmm...not bad. I silently thought, he's ten and already knows how to sweep them off their feet...and...oh boy, he's writing a poem...this isn't going to turn out good for anyone. Little did I know...

One good thing about Aspie kids is their social awkwardness does not let them feel fear to interact with whatever they want to say. Their actions might not always be appropriate at the time, but (at least in my son's case), they say what is on their mind and do not think about the consequences, which may be a blessing in disguise for situations like these. In this case, I was anticipating the worst. I was already preparing for the "so you had a crash-and-burn, now get back on your feet and try again" pep talk. All I could see was this adorable little girl suddenly running to her friends, note in hand, and telling them what just happened. My son, meanwhile, would be standing there, all alone, not knowing what sort of melee was about to rain down on him. At this point, I did not know what to do, so I took the blindfold off of my little eagle, and I let him fly. I hoped I would not have to pick up the pieces of his shattered ego in the afternoon.

When the time to pick up my son after school came around, I waited to see his expressions as he walked to the car. Fortunately, he did not look crushed. That was a positive sign. He got in the car, and I said, "Well? How did it go?" He said, "It went well. She said the teacher said that it is not that kind of a dance, that everyone just meets at the school." Wow...I was impressed. This little girl knew how to let him down easily. Very impressive, I must say. I wish the girls did that for me when I was his age! He was not disappointed, his ego was not shattered, and he was still looking forward to the dance. Sweet! No, "pick yourself up" pep talk needed!

My son then said, "She did say that she would dance with me, though." Cool beans! Woohoo! HA! Yeah, he's a stud. I must have taught him well...at least that is what I am telling myself. By the way, here's the poem/letter. Don't tell him I posted this...I'm thinking he wouldn't be too happy about it...but at least I deleted her name to avoid any paparazzi stalking her!

9/11 - The World As We Know It

2011-09-09T21:14:00.000-04:00

First, yes, I am still here. The past few months have been filled with personal changes from dealing with a completely inept real estate agent selling our home in Oklahoma (I might have to write a book about that experience!), getting my son started in his new school, looking at many homes and bidding on one to start our anxious roots in our new state, and many other interesting events. In the coming months, we will be moving, starting a business, and trying to figure out how all of this will work...hopefully, a blog post or three will be thrown in there as well, but I make no promises. Without further delay, here's what I have to say today...

The World As We Know It

From time to time, something happens in the world that changes our lives forever. On a smaller scale, that "something" may be the day that you got half way to your best friend's house with the Rubik's Cube in the brown paper bag that I...errr....you...found impossible to solve and decided to take it apart to piece back together in the correct colored formation, only to run back home with tears in your eyes because you lied to your mother and wanted to come clean. That, of course, is just a hypothetical example and the only people who know otherwise are my mother and myself.

On a medium scale, the "something" that alters your life may be a lunatic and his young accomplice driving around in a modified vehicle, shooting people at random spots, all in the vicinity of where you work, live, and play. Unfortunately, that one is not "hypothetical" and has changed my life, and the lives of many people living in the D.C. Metro area, forever.

On a larger scale; September 11, 2001, December 7, 1941, July 20, 1969, July 4, 1776, and so on. Regardless of the outcome, positive or negative, these historical events change lives forever.

I remember a time when I would go to the airport an hour early to make sure I would have enough time to find a parking space, get my bags checked in, get something to drink, and maybe eat, and still have time left to make the flight with my loved ones walking me all the way to the gate. Today, if you do not allow two, or three hours in busier airports, you are pushing your luck, and you're lucky to get sixty seconds to say goodbye to someone at the curb of the airport before security intervenes. Forget air travel! Even the Moon is no longer a mystery; now we have people living in outer-space and we are exploring further out into the unknown. The Japanese are no longer our enemies after their attack on Pearl Harbor and their vehicles are among the most sold in the United States. Shift happens...good or bad.

With the 10 year anniversary of the September 11 attacks only days away, and the media coverage going into hyper-drive with all of the documentaries and special reports being aired, thus forcing us to re-live that day (for which, in my mind, the wounds are still healing and is too fresh in my mind to watch), it makes me wonder what my son's viewpoint will be on Sunday, and what events in the future will change his life, forever.

In the past 10 years, we have elected our first black president. Although this is a very significant date in American history, I do not believe this is one that will stand out in my son's memory banks. Don't get me wrong, the event is long overdue and momentous, but because he was so young when President Obama was elected, my son will not know the full impact of the change when it becomes his turn to vote. Regardless of your political affiliation or beliefs on President Obama's success or lack of, you should be aware that his time in office is a pivotal point in history, because if nothing else, he is our first black President. Perhaps the first female President will be elected and that may stick with my son throughout his years. Even that is a possibility that didn't easily exist prior to the Obama Administration. But my son won't remember a time when either option was not an option. The way he views the Presidency is not how you or I do, simply because change happened before he became aware.

My son, most likely, will not understand the full impact of September 11, 2001, because he was four months old when it happened. Just like I cannot fully understand the impact Vietnam had, my son is not aware of how life was before the event. My wife distinctly remembers watching the television and looking down at her innocent child. With tears clouding her vision, she wondered what kind of world she brought this child into. To him, life will always be the way it is today. That is, until a major event takes place again and alters his perspective of the world, just as 9/11 did for his mother and I.

I was living in Frederick, MD, in a townhouse that my ex-girlfriend and I bought together. I was working nights at a local restaurant and usually slept in because I could. I did not watch television during the day, but for some unexplained reason, I woke up early that day, walked downstairs and turned on the TV. Immediately, I was glued and called my girlfriend right away. As I was watching and listening to the news cast, I knew the tower was collapsing before the news people did. I could see it starting to crumble and I lost my breath for a moment. Speechless, all I could do was watch and cry. When the plane hit the Pentagon and when the other went down in Pennsylvania, I began to wonder what was next. Living less than a mile (as the crow flies) from Ft. Detrick (biological warfare research center...oh wait, no, they say it is a cancer research center now, wink, wink), I began to wonder if I would be able to hear the plane crash and how long it would take for me to feel the impact of the chemicals being released into the air. I hoped that it was quick and painless. Fortunately, Ft. Detrick was not part of the plan...but I did not know that at the time. I started to plan my escape route, but had nowhere to run. Clips of Patrick Swazye, C. Thomas Howell, and Charlie Sheen (before he went nuts) in Red Dawn kept playing in my mind. Yep, I even got my guns ready...just in case. Needless to say, I was a mess. At some point, I looked up to the soft blue sky and took note of the smattering of angelic white clouds. You never notice the amount of air traffic above your head, until there is none. Except for a few fighter jets passing by every hour, the skies were eerily quiet and free of any man-made object piercing the air above. It was disturbing. (And a great example of things that are normal in my world experience being so different from my grandparents' experience...)

Red Dawn, 1984

I wonder what events will change my son's life forever. Is it the time he did not use two hands (after I taught him over and over again to use two hands!) to catch a pop fly and the ball popped him in the mouth? The surprised look on his face and his mouth and cheek muscles keeping his eyes from watering followed by the look of anger because I said, "See? I told you so. I bet next time you will use two hands!"...those things tell me that might be one he remembers for a long time. Maybe not. Is it the time some insecure little brat bullied him at school a few years ago? Maybe. Maybe not. But these are all small scale items in the big picture. Here's what I hope he might experience of this world ...

1. An agreement between nations to work together for a better world, despite differences, that will be signed by every nation's leader in 2018...and it actually works.

2. The day that all extremists took it down a notch and realized that their way may not actually be the best way to live and decided to, peacefully, persuade others through the power of the pen, and not the sword.

3. The day that people look at each other as one race; the human race. That judgment occurs not by some shade of skin, religious beliefs, or political affiliation but based on personal actions.

4. The day that people become accountable for their own lives and actions and stop blaming other people for their shortcomings, attitudes, and general negativeness. Unfortunately, the ones who need to do this have no idea it is them who need to change.

Utopia? Yeah, I know, wishful thinking. But, I can dream, can't I? If I put it out in the universe, maybe someone else will see it, act upon it, and put it back out there for others to follow.

I hope my son's memories are filled with positive world events. I hope it does not take a major horrific event like 9/11 to change his world.

This Sunday, take a moment to remember. Take another moment to ponder what it is that you can change in yourself to help make the world a better place for everyone. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

Disclaimer...(Yes, it’s a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!) First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so it’s probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

Parenthood - The review

2011-06-21T23:07:00.000-04:00

If I were being paid to review TV shows, chances are I would not have a job for long. There are few shows that I will actually sit down long enough to watch. Castle, The Mentalist, Bones, Top Gear (The Brit's version, only...the American version is horrible), and maybe a few others that I cannot think of right now, are the only one's that capture my attention long enough to enjoy. The fact that Stana Katic, Amanda Righetti, and Michaela Conlin are in the first three shows has nothing to do with my desire to watch these shows...well, ok, maybe a little...but really it is because the shows are very well written, clever, witty, and they allow my ADD brain to continue working, while remaining seated. The bonus is the above mentioned cast members. Yes, I am a TV snob...if the show is not cleverly written, I do not watch. In addition, I would rather watch TV shows that are on DVD so that I can skip the commercials and watch all seasons in as short a period of time as possible!

I do not remember seeing many advertisements for the show (probably because I was fast-forwarding through them) Parenthood, but when someone mentioned it the other day, it was not a complete mystery. The person who suggested it mentioned that it deals with a family raising a child diagnosed with Asperger's. Of course, I was interested at that point...at least to give it a fair chance. So, I logged onto Netflix and bumped it up to the next in line on our queue.

The DVD arrived in the mail just in time for a Saturday night viewing. My wife and I got our son tucked into bed and plopped down on the couch with the rental inserted into the DVD player. We pressed play, and watched. The pilot was not what I had expected. As a matter of fact, if I had watched the pilot on the day that it aired, I probably would not have given it a second chance. But, fortunately for the series, I had four episodes to watch on one DVD, and since it was Saturday night and I was unable to send the DVD back to Netflix until Monday, I watched the second episode...then the third, and finally the fourth in one night.

The story covers almost every possible angle of parenthood...there's a divorced mom raising two kids - one kid who has authority issues; a bachelor who discovers he has a five year old son from one crazy night with a stripper (this one also has the interracial aspect to it); a family with a stay-at-home dad and a working mother; parents who are old-school and who are having troubles with their marriage; pot-smoking kids; and, of course, the regular, run of the mill family who just found out their son is an Aspie.

The first episode rubbed me the wrong way, simply because of the way the story of the kid with Asperger's was revealed. The story led me to believe that the kid had a problem and that the parents were treating it like it was a disease similar to the black plague. Despite the tears running down my face from seeing a very similar story to my own family unfold before my eyes, I was not thrilled with the way the writers described the situation. Like I said, luckily for the writers, I watched the next three episodes. (I'm sure they're so relieved...)

The next three episodes dug deeper into each family member's story. I guess I forgot to mention that the series is about one big family; the parents (the one's going through a rough patch), and their kids who are adults with families of their own. The "kids" are two brothers (one brother is the slacker dope smoking new parent of the five year old and the other brother is the one with the Aspie kid and a daughter), and two sisters (one sister is the divorced mom with the two kids, one of which is the angry teen girl, and the other sister is the working mom with the husband who stays at home with their daughter.)

By the fourth episode, I found myself in a conundrum. I really enjoy the show, but found that I will need to invest in a larger supply of Kleenex for my wife...yeah, ok, I might use one or two during the series as well, but I swear my contacts have been bothering me a lot lately and I am blaming the tears on that. Hey, it's my blog and my story and I'm sticking to that viewpoint whether you believe me or not. So there! Anyway, the water works were flowing freely during every episode. The show, as it turns out, is well written. What gets me, though, is how did they obtain our story without us knowing? Then, to make it more of a mystery, how did the writers obtain our story a year and a half before we knew our story? Amazing, indeed.

Back to being serious, if you are looking for a TV show to watch about a family full of interesting characters, and you want to see what the first stages of discovering that you have a child with Asperger's are like, rent Parenthood, sit back, watch the first four episodes, and have some Kleenex ready...you know, for those troublesome contacts. Now, we just have to wait for the next four episodes...which we are eager to see.

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!)

First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

When to call it quits (Alt. title - Going to Holland)

2011-06-15T23:39:00.000-04:00

NOTE: Please see the disclaimer at the end of this post. Thanks!

"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run."

In case you do not recognize those words, they are from the song, The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers. I can count on one hand how many times I can say that I actually enjoyed country music during my life; 1. during my breakup with my first serious girlfriend; 2. during my breakup with my second serious girlfriend; and 3. when my dog died. When I first heard The Gambler, I was pretty close to my son's current age and I didn't know any better in regards to country music. I suppose certain seemingly trivial things stay with us for the weirdest reasons. And, yes, sometimes country music has a valuable place in the world. Not often...but sometimes.

Many times during my life, I have referenced those exact lyrics when the times got tough. I would try to maintain my composure, and be aware that there are some times that I needed to call it quits before I lost more of what it was that I was not succeeding with. I knew when to walk away, and I knew (sometimes far too often) when to run. Other times, I stayed in the game and lost my shirt. Rarely, I came out ahead when I stuck it out.

As a step-parent (and I will only say "step-parent" once, because I do not consider myself that - I DO consider myself a parent and my son's one and only Dad.), I would be lying if I said I have never wondered "what if I called it quits?" I imagine there are many biological parents out there who have wondered the same thing. Foster parents? Yeah, probably them too. What if I just left? What if I threw in the towel and said, "enough?" What if I folded? What if I walked away? What if I ran?

Relax...I never thought about really leaving, and I never will. I have thought about jumping on the next plane to Jamaica and living off the land, selling certain unmentionables to unsuspecting tourists, and staying for a month or two, but then I came back to reality. Besides, when sitting on the scale of life, staying in a Jamaican prison for partaking in the distribution of illegal substances will not be better than dealing with the frustrations of parenthood on a regular basis, of that I am certain. Well, not 100% certain, since I have never been in a Jamaican prison, but I have a pretty good idea of what one would be like. And, I don't want any parts of that! Not to mention, I'd like to see Holland at some point.

I am not trying to minimize any of the trials and tribulations other parents of (for lack of a better word) "normal" kids have, and I am not saying parents of "special needs" kids have it so bad they deserve a medal, but raising a kid with special needs requires a whole different set of priorities. These priorities can be a bit taxing at times, to say the least. In previous posts, I described all of the fun happy stuff related to kids with Asperger's. Yes, like any other kid, there are warm and fuzzy times, and yes, like any other kid, there are not so fun times while raising them. To describe it another way, or rather, from a different perspective, check out the poem/story Welcome to Holland below. This is a poem that a very good friend of mine suggested I read. She was spot on. Yes, I have dreamed about Italy for a long time.

I cannot speak for everyone, but I do know of a few parents out there who have wished upon the Calgon Gods to take them away on occasion ("Calgon...take me away!"). I do not believe this makes them a bad parent, but I do believe their frustrations and a non-realistic wish of instant sanity are real. The problem is, if it really did happen, the grass would not be greener on the other side.

Being a parent of an Aspie kid does not make me a saint, nor does it make me not want to escape from the mayhem every-so-often. Would I be happy if my son was not an Aspie? Maybe. Would I be happy if my son was perfect in every way, picked up his socks, never had a temper-tantrum, never said he hated me only to want a hug and tell me he loves me five minutes later, or if he was a star athlete-musician-straight A student-thespian kid? Maybe. But, this is not reality. Reality is, every one of us has something different to offer the world. Sometimes it doesn't quite match up to what we had in mind or wanted, but, the fact is, you weren't exactly a gem to raise when you were a kid, either. Ok, maybe you were, but I sure wasn't! The point is, a commitment has been made, and it should....no, it must be honored. Kids do not come with receipts or return policies. Kids R Us is not a place to exchange your Aspie, ADHD, Bipolar, undiagnosed, or whatever, kid for a different model.

So, those days and nights of anger filled emotions that came out of your kid because you asked him to perform a seemingly simple task of putting his dish in the dishwasher that resulted in various household items flying through the air (which isn't fun when your son has one heck of a pitching arm - fortunately, my cat-like reflexes from playing third base are still fairly useable...well, maybe not "cat-like" but I will swear on faster than a sloth-like reflexes), temper-tantrums that make the cat and dog run for cover, those sleepless nights wondering if your kid will be ok alone in the hospital, monitoring his every move to determine if the most recent round of meds will be the golden egg, or the countless times you have preached about good manners, keeping the elbows off the table, not dropping crumbs on the couch, not sneaking sweets, using the napkin instead of the shirt, teaching proper social skills, repeating over and over how important it is to actually wash when he is in the tub and not just sit, and being told you are stupid and not a good parent because you said "no" to your kid when he or she asked for a working model of a WWII M1 Carbine...those days and nights are all a part of raising a kid with special needs. And, no, you cannot just get up and walk away. Well, you can walk away to another room...but you know what I mean.

Being a parent is difficult. Period. What parents fail to realize is, that perfect kid in the neighborhood...yeah, he ain't so perfect all of the time, and yes, his parents get frustrated, too. And they are probably envious of that other kid who seems to be perfect from the outside...yours! So, instead of planning your escape to Italy...alone...look at where you are and want what you have. Holland is pretty nice and has a lot to offer, too. Don't walk away, don't run, don't fold 'em, but do hold them. It makes a difference when your hand isn't exactly what you thought it would be. The surprise behind holding on to the hand you didn't expect is that you discover it's way better than you ever would have picked for yourself. My wife likes to say that it is divine providence -- the unexpected gifts that manifest from great trials in life. Me? I see the adventure. And, I'm willing to admit there is Method (yes, capital "M") in what looks like madness...

Welcome to Holland

Written by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this…

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, the Michelangelo David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!" you say. "What do you mean, Holland?" I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy.

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to some horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy a new guidebook. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

The pain of that will never, ever, go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss.

But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.

Welcome to Holland link HERE (NOTE: This link also leads to a website that has a lot of information for those interested in Autism.

And HERE

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog above is new!)

First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

The token economy

2011-06-07T23:38:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer...(Yes, its a repeat of the last one...but the blog below is new!)

First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

The token economy...

In a previous post, I mentioned the token economy. It is really quite simple, but for a family with an Aspie child, it may also be very useful. I cannot claim ownership of this idea by any stretch of the imagination, especially since I did not think it would ever work to begin with. Yes, I am admitting I was wrong...I suppose everyone has a bad day now and then. But after implementing the idea for just one day, I saw the true usefulness of the design. The best part is that this would probably work with any child and not just those on the Autism spectrum.

The thought is to focus on the positives and not on the shortcomings. This should be a no-brainer, but far too often we...ok, I can't speak for you, so I will say "I"...focus on the negatives. How often have we...errr...I mean, I... looked at someone and thought, "Hmmm, they have nice clothes" and overlooked the funky multicolored faux-hawk? Most of the time, I will overlook the Armani suit and focus on the hair...partly because I am jealous, mostly because we...grrr...I mean I, focus on the part we want to change about that person. I know I prefer for people to think of me in a positive way, rather than negative...I'm guessing our kids feel the same way. When we focus on the negative, we miss the positive. Perception is reality. Create more opportunities for the positives to break the cycle of negativity...this will work in other places in life too!

So, the token economy really is really quite simple. In a nutshell, when the child does something good, such as opening a door for someone entering the store, or saying thank you without being prompted, or even putting away his or her dish after dinner without being told to do so, he or she gets a small token. That token can be anything...perhaps a bead, maybe a sticker, or possibly a piece of paper with a check mark. Whatever works for your child is what works best. (I feel like I am channeling Yogi Berra after that last sentence.) The key is to give the token to him or her as soon as possible to acknowledge the positive behavior. Which brings me to the next part...

Have tokens with you at all times! For me, this is difficult because I rarely wear clothes with pockets when I am lounging around the house...which, lately, seems to be rather often, unfortunately. If you have the token in your pocket, you can supply the instant gratification for a deed well done. If you do not give the token immediately and you are like me you will forget about the earned token and the whole concept will fail to launch even before the countdown begins. So, it is worth repeating...have tokens with you at all times! You are, as much as your kid, a part of the overall exercise here...play your part and you will be rewarded as well.

Before we go further, let's take a step or two back. One of the things you will want to do before starting the token economy is explain it to your child. Once he or she has a grasp on the concept - stress the fact that they will get whatever they want - have them write down 10, 20, 30, 50, 100...whatever many amount of items they can work toward. If your kid wants a new bike...write it down. If they want candy...write it down. The point is to get them to understand the reward is what they want, not what you think they want. Don't worry if your kid says he wants a Ferrari...we'll get to that later...go ahead and write it down! Once all items are written on a piece of paper, take a break and go to the craft store down the road.

Our tokens

Once you get to the craft store, find a big poster-board, a few colored pens that will write on said poster-board (Sharpies will write on the board, but are not the ideal choice. I know this from experience. Look for poster-board specific pens. I do not know if they exist, but if they do, buy them. If they don't, tell me and I will start making some so I can make my millions from this idea), a small divided container, and some tokens. You might want to buy two types of tokens; a bunch of small ones and a small bag of bigger ones. We are currently using multi-colored beads for the little ones and stars for the bigger ones. Each and every positive action receives one small token. 25 small tokens equal one star. Of course, your system can be tailored to your needs, but you get the idea. (It was actually Grant's idea to include "bigger" tokens in the plan, and he chose the stars...) Return home with said items and let the fun begin.

Not the best photo ever, but you get the idea

Here is where you can build your safety net for that Ferrari. Once you have your supplies, you and your child should assign worth to each item. For example, a piece of candy may equal 10 tokens, a Hot Wheels car is 20 tokens, a new Wii game equals 20 stars, and that Ferrari, yeah, that one is 100,000 stars. In other words, set the worth how you see fit. At the same time, remember that this exercise is as much for you as it is for your child; rewarding positive behavior results in even more positive behavior and less stressful times in your home. Are you getting the picture, now? (Yes? Yay! You get a token!)

When you have agreed upon the worth of each item, have your child write them on the poster-board with the value next to the item. The poster-board serves as a large visual reminder of the rewards for positive behavior and should, therefore, be visible to your child each and every day to plant the seed. Having your child design the poster-board gives him or her the ownership. When your child completes this task, give him or her a small token for starting the process on a positive note.

The small divided box will provide a place for your child to place the earned tokens. An idea that I had...apparently I was the only one who thought it was a good one, though...is to pick the top 10 rewards and write them on a small piece of paper. Set the paper in one of the divided spaces so that your child can save for a specific item. If your child is like mine, this idea will only serve as a reminder of how, ummm... "particular" you are about order and how your child really doesn't care about such nonsense. Whatever you decide, your child will be happy as a pig in...mud...when he or she gets to place the first token in the box.

Again, keep tokens with you at all times!

My handy dandy token bag I have with me...at all times!

What's that? You say your child will do things just to get a token? She/He's still doing them, right? Reward the good behavior, BUT...tell them that is not how it works. The token economy is NOT a reward system for chores and it is NOT a payment system for doing things on purpose. In other words, make sure the tokens are only given when the child does something on his or her own and without being asked. You can suggest things to earn more tokens, but the reward should be for his or her positive choices.

We have had the token economy in action for a little over two weeks, now. The first day proved to be a complete turn-around from the previous day. My son was hooked. Yes, he asked over and over what he could do to earn more, to which I replied, good deeds get good rewards. Plain and simple. So far, he still gets excited about earning tokens, and more importantly, he is excited to have his good deeds recognized more so than his negative actions. Truthfully, his negative actions have diminished substantially since we started the token economy, so there is no need to focus on the negatives. Our reward is that he is much more pleasant to be around, we do not have to police his every move, and his socks get picked up without being reminded five times!

Design away!

It's not a cure-all, but it really does help to stop a downward spiral. We had a big meltdown on Day 2 of the system, but overall I see that all of us are feeling better. He is able to see his own positives again, instead of being bogged down by the negatives. My wife and I are able to see the positives again, instead of being overwhelmed with worry and frustration. And by the way -- we didn't have to push hard to start or implement this. Once my wife mentioned it to my son, he then asked every day for a week when we could get started! Sometimes, just sometimes, we stumble upon something that works. Hopefully this is one that will work for you, too.

In good company

2011-06-03T17:41:00.000-04:00

Disclaimer...

First, let me say that I am not a specialist in Asperger's Syndrome, nor do I play one on TV. What I write or say are strictly my own personal observations and beliefs, so please do not sue me because I said something that made you do something that caused a misdiagnosis, or created a problem, or made you do something stupid. Have accountability, go see a professional, and leave my finances alone...besides, you really wouldn't get much anyway, so its probably not worth your time to call the lawyer on the back of the phone book to see if you have a case. Spend that time more wisely, like figuring out how to subscribe to my blog...and don't ask me about that because I'm not even sure how it works! Seriously, though, if some of the things I say seem like they sound very familiar in your family, set up an appointment with a true professional. While you are waiting for their callback, please, continue reading and leave a note!

In good company...

One of the things we fail to see when a diagnosis of a "syndrome" is revealed is that the word "syndrome" should be a synonym of typical, normal, ordinary, and so on. Instead, when you type in "syndrome" in the thesaurus you get words like condition, disease, and disorder. My question is, how can it be a "dis"order when most people in the world have some trait that could lead to a diagnosis of some sort? Think of it, do you know someone who does not focus well? They have ADD (<--- That's me!). Wait, where was I? Oh, yeah... Do they have problems with eye contact? Asperger's. What about a fear of spiders? Arachnophobia. Always sick? Hypochondriac, probably. How about sadness? Obviously depression. Severe mood swings? Bi-polar. No, diagnosing someone is not that easy, but I have yet to meet anyone who is "normal" all of the time. My point is, call it what you will but the fact is that we all have some quirkiness about us, which is what makes life so wonderful. If everyone were the same, how boring would that be? Diversity is an essential spice for our lives.

In an attempt to step down from my soapbox, let me focus on some of the people in history who have made an enormous impact on all of our lives. If these people did not contribute in the manner they did, our lives would be vastly different from the way they are now. For example, you might not be using a computer right now, or if you live in the United States you might be speaking with an English accent, or perhaps the unrequited love of Miss Piggy would have seen its full potential in the wild...yeah, maybe not. Forget that last one. Star Wars? It never would have made it to the big screen.

Bill Gates, Ben Franklin, Jim Henson, George Lucas (although many debate the accuracy of this one), Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, Sir Issac Newton, Henry Ford, Tom Hanks, Robin Williams, Mozart, Beethoven, Dan Aykroyd, Elvis, Honest Abe, and Mark Twain are all people who either had Asperger's or are believed to have had Asperger's based on their personalities. The list goes on and on and on...each person has contributed to society in a way that no other could have imagined doing. People like Jane Austen, Nikola Tesla, Issac Asimov, Carl Jung, Charles Darwin, and Thomas Jefferson, continue the list of generations of incredible thinkers.

Disorder? Diseased? If any of these people are diseased, I'll have what they are having, please. Granted, some of these people led difficult lives, but perhaps that is because the outside world could not relate to their superior brain function and were stuck in their narrow-minded thinking so much that they could not wrap their pea-sized brain around such wonderful theories and contributions. Harsh? Maybe, but the way I see it, normal is pretty boring.

My son just turned 10 a few weeks ago. He is going into 5th grade next year. His reading level is at a 7th or 8th grader's. His math ability, not so great in the classroom, but ask him to do a math problem in his head and he spits out the right answer in a matter of seconds. History? HA! He knows more about history than his teachers do...and that is no exaggeration. Writing ability...ok, that one needs some work. Controlling his temper? Let's just say that is for whole other blog entry at a later date. Understanding what events deserve an explosion of anger and which need to be overlooked...Again, a whole other blog entry. Give him a ball to play with and he's a bit awkward. Give him a guitar and he'll play "Peter Gunn" and "Smoke on the Water" for you. He learned those two songs after spending a week or two learning just the very basics of guitar playing. My fear is he will want to learn the drums...Fortunately, he and I only saw guitars, no drums, for sale in Costco the other day.

He has his strengths and weaknesses, just like each of us do. He likes Star Wars, the military, history, Legos, his cat and dog, friends, and most things that a "normal" 10 year-old would like. He has aspirations to work for George Lucas one day, be a soldier another day, an engineer the next day, a football player the other day, and a BMX star on one of the other days. In short, he's a kid.

Yes, he has a few quirks that can make our life difficult at times. What I am finding out is, if I can alter my way of thinking, then I can get my point across to him. Think of it this way, if you are driving to the store and the road is closed because of construction, do you keep trying to go the same route only to find your car cannot travel through concrete blockades no matter how hard you concentrate on teleporting? Or do you take a detour, make a few extra turns, and still end up at the store you were trying to get to in the beginning of your journey? Raising my son is much like taking a few detours.

One example is the token economy. My wife reads every book she can get her hands on. When she is not sure how to handle something, she reads. I think that is great, but I am too impatient to read 300 pages to find out what to do. A month or two ago, she suggested the token economy. I do not really remember what I thought about it at the time, but now I think it is wonderful. Basically, the token economy is a reward system for positive reinforcement. Anything the child does that is good, he or she is rewarded with a small token. After earning a set amount of tokens, he or she can turn them in for an item. That item might be candy, a game, a night out with Mom or Dad, tickets to the Star Wars convention, or whatever else is of value to the child. Each item has a predetermined value so he or she has a specific goal. I did not think this would work. I saw the detour and I cruised right past it thinking THIS time I will be able to make teleportation a reality and prove my geometry teacher right, for once, since the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Sorry Mr. Kingsley, you must have never had an Aspie kid, because that detour (the token system) is a MUCH better choice! (I'll go into detail about that idea at a later date)

Amazing things can happen with an Aspie kid. The key, I believe, to any child is not necessarily trying to raise them in a manner that is in line with mainstream society, but more so in a way that will focus on his or her strengths. What would have happened is Edison's mother tried to suppress his way of thinking? What about Einstein's mother or father? Maybe they did, I wasn't there so I cannot be sure, but I do know that the ADD mind typing these words and getting ready to send them out into cyberspace is quite an interesting character when you get to know him, and he is one heck of a creative problem solver (which has got to be good for something, right?)! Really, all I know for sure is I still have a lot to learn. Hopefully, I will be able to continue sharing and maybe even help a little here and there. Remember, a diagnosis of Asperger's is not a bad thing, especially when you are in such good company.

As always, thank you for reading and please share your thoughts!

For a list of famous people with Asperger's...

Click HERE
and HERE
and HERE too

A change in procedure

2011-05-26T20:24:00.000-04:00

When I first started writing this blog, I had envisioned submitting multiple entries per week. I figured my son's actions would provide enough material that I would have to limit what I actually wrote about. That part is still pretty accurate, but the desire to write about his daily actions became...well...undesirable. Don't get me wrong, my son still provides plenty of fun and entertaining material to pass on, that is for sure, but when the wind keeps being taken away from my sails, I tend to forget to raise them back up when it returns. To be less cryptic, I simply had no desire to write about what was going on in our lives these past few months and the moments of happiness were overshadowed by the dark cloud that loomed above.

To recap, my family and I recently moved to North Carolina. My son was less than pleased to leave his friends behind. We knew it would be a difficult move, but we were looking ahead...way ahead, for a better future for all of us. These past seven or eight months have definitely not been easy. One of us broke an ankle in three places, another one of us has been exited from two schools, and the other is still unemployed. All of our nerves are shot and we feel like we are hanging on by a thread. However, if I was able to go back in time and know then what I know now, I would still believe we would be making the right choice to move. My son thinks otherwise. My wife is undecided. We sacrified stability and comfort to take a leap of faith, trusting that breaking out of our comfort zone would reap more rewards for our future. Nothing in life is free, and if these past months are any indication of the payment for our coming reward, we are going to find even more happiness here than we could imagine when we made the choice.

My son has been through more in his short time on earth than many adults go through their whole life. When he was a toddler, his first father died. He was hospitalized a year later with severe depression. He was diagnosed with a potential for bi-polar disorder on top of standard depression. He has been on medication for the past two years (there'll be a whole other blog about meds and children...) and has changed dosages and prescriptions more times than most people buy cars. Most recently, he moved to a completely different state.

Although that last one may not seem that difficult to most people, it was the new diagnosis of Asperger's that shed light on how challenging a move like we experienced actually is. Imagine you are on a freight train cruising west on a straight path at top speed; suddenly, the conductor tells you to pick up the entire train and place it on a track going north. First, the wreckage of stopping a train so suddenly would be devastating, second, the ability to lift that train by yourself is impossible, and third, it just doesn't make sense, does it? For an Aspie, this is how they live their life; on one specific track and if you ask them to suddenly change routes, you better be prepared for a devastating wreck of emotions.

So, because I love to write, and because I hope this will serve as a source of valuable information to anybody close to my son, and to those who will never meet him, and because I am looking for answers myself, I have decided to make a change in procedure, alter my topic, morph my style and write about raising a child with Asperger's Syndrome. I may lose a reader or two, but that's ok since I only have a few anyway, haha. Thank you all for sticking with me, by the way! And if I lose you, yes, I will be sad, but I believe this is the direction I need to go. Some of it will be self-therapeutic, some of it may be shocking, some of it will be informational, and some of it will be funny (at least to me it will be). For example, why does the syndrome have to be named in a way that sounds like Ass-burger, or Ass-booger??? Which is why I will be referring to my son as an Aspie as much as possible! But, after looking at what I just typed, one might see that as Ass-pie (as my son pointed out yesterday!)...hmmmm, there's just no easy way to say it, which makes me realize how important it is going to be to maintain my sense of humor through the upcoming years.

On a more serious note, I have no idea what I will be writing about because I have no idea how this is going to affect our lives. I must admit, I am not 100% convinced the diagnosis is accurate. As a matter of fact, sometimes I believe my son's actions are manifested from the diagnosis and not the diagnosis coming from his actions. Either way, it is going to be a very interesting and educational ride. What I do know is my son's mind works in magical and mysterious ways. His intelligence level is far superior to mine and some of the doctors who have treated him. His outlook, when he is on a peaceful track, is fantastic. His desire to be a good person shines through even in the darkest of days...most of the time. Although he prefers a straight track to live his life, his mind is more like a twisting and turning super-fast roller-coaster to those around him. In short, all aspects (good and bad) of him are amazing.

I hope you will stick with me, learn from my experiences, share your experiences, forward the blog address to anyone who may benefit or have additional insight, and together, hopefully, we can understand how such an amazing mind works. After all, parenting is parenting. All children are unique, special people full of challenges and full of blessings.

Parents are insane!

2011-03-10T15:53:00.000-05:00

Albert Einstein is credited with defining insanity as, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. By this definition, I believe parents can be classified as being insane. At the very least, I can claim insanity. However, on a rare occasion, the persistence may just pay off...

Many years ago, there were days that I just did not want to go to school. I would claim a tummy ache and throw in the headache for good measure, hoping my mother would take pity and allow me to stay home. After all, how could a good parent force a sick child upon the world? That would be unheard of, right? HA! Yeah, right. If my memory serves well, that little ploy worked less than half of the time...maybe even less than a quarter of the time.

Now, my son, who thinks I never tried the exact same things he is trying or went through the same struggles he is going through (silly little naive grasshopper), is trying the old stomach ache, headache, and overall sick act upon me, again. Poor kid...he doesn't stand a chance with that one! Of course, for the sake of learning, we do allow him to stay home on occasion, and sometimes simply because his act is so convincing we feel that not only does he earn the right to stay home, he should also earn an Emmy or an Oscar for his portrayal of a truly ill child. But, regardless of the situation, the consequence is always the same; he must stay in his room, get rest, and if he cannot sleep, he may read a book, write a letter, or draw. No TV, no play time, no fun stuff...if you are too sick to be at school, you are too sick to do anything other than rest. What's that? You are hungry? I'll get you some chicken soup and ultra-bland saltine crackers to eat.

Every time he feels "sick" we do the same thing, over and over again, expecting he will get a clue and realize that playing hooky is not fun (at least not until you become an adult and can usually get away with it!), and hope that he sees that the grass is not always greener on the other side. Yes, we are insane, by Einstein's definition, we do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. Only this time, we have proven Einstein wrong! Muahaha!

Yesterday, he tried to play the sick card and had the school give us a call. My response was, give him child's strength Motrin, and send him back to class. Children's Motrin must be magic because he miraculously recovered by the time he came home and was feeling well enough to say he had a good day. Today, the school called again, but this time, he was not given the opportunity to take the magic Motrin, he was sent home.

When I arrived, I was less than happy about the situation, but decided I had better give him the benefit of the doubt and see if the little boy who cried wolf actually saw a wolf this time. When his healthy looking cheeks, alert eyes, and the silent mischievous smirk yelling "ha!, I fooled the grown-ups this time!" came around the corner, I knew immediately there was no wolf. I sighed, because I knew I was about to do the same thing I had done many times before, and yes, I was hoping for a different result.

I took the guilt trip route. I explained to him that if he is really sick, there is no need to apologize, but if he is acting, there will be a problem because his mother and I have had to rearrange our schedules, cancel meetings, and push back work that needed to be done. If he was really sick, however, none of that would matter because we will always be there for him. He promised that his tummy hurt, and that he wasn't acting. "hmmm...ok" was all I said.

When we arrived home, I immediately sent him to his room for "much needed rest" and explained to him that he can read if he cannot sleep, but no running around, playing games, or anything of the sort. His "sick" body needed rest to recover. When he asked if he could have crackers, I told him, after you get some sleep, I'll fix some chicken soup and crackers for you...yep, same thing over and over again.

I headed downstairs to get dinner into the crock-pot before my six hour available cook time had expired (I love crock-pots, by the way). Along with the clattering of plates and silverware prepping the feast for the evening, I heard a random, "thump..thump" coming from upstairs. I let the first one go, but the second, third and fourth were all met with "You need to stop moving around and get some rest!" I also explained to him, again, that if he is well enough to be moving around like he is, then he is well enough to go back to school.

A few minutes later, my son trudged down the steps, his head hung low, with these words coming out of his mouth, "Dad, take me back to school. I lied, I am not sick." I had to work at suppressing the grin my mouth was trying to form, but somehow I managed.

The following conversation reiterated the reasons why he shouldn't cry wolf, why lying is wrong, and so on, but the final consequence was the same as if he really were sick...bed rest, reading, and drawing was all that was allowed. I was nice enough to tell him he could clean his room, in addition to the previously mentioned activities, though, so I am not that mean of a parent! In the end, he was not happy with his choices and seemed to be legitimately remorseful for his actions.

So, maybe I am not as insane as I thought I was. Perhaps doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result from your child is not a part of Einstein's definition. Somewhere out there, I am guessing there is a disclaimer to his theory that reads, "exclusions apply," which I seem to have found...for now. We'll see how his next "sick day" goes first before I claim absolute victory...Either way, I hope he learns from these experiences and does not prove Einstein's theory correct!

FSMSS III

2011-02-01T17:49:00.000-05:00

Maybe it was that precise moment, or perhaps it was the visual I saw in my head after hearing what he said, or it could have been that I was just in that sort of mood to find this funny, but...

This may be more of an inside chuckle story, but I thought it was worth sharing. Picture, if you will, my son and I driving home from school, listening to the radio (yes, the Internet radio...yes, in the car...and yes, to the Beatles station, per his request), and not much talking going on because we have the tunes cranked...not because the song was worthy of cranking to the max, but because the louder the radio plays, the less interference we get through the speakers, or rather, the less we notice it. The constant high pitched shriek that varies only by how much gas pedal is being applied is enough to make your ears bleed, and to top it off, on a random basis, the speakers belt out some sort of rude gaseous-like discharged sound that can only be described as sounding like one long continuous fart...thankfully, the odor usually associated with such an event is not present, at least not for now. So, now that the stage is set, let's get some history thrown in there so this story makes a little more sense to those not informed.

When we lived in Oklahoma a few months ago, we had some wonderful neighbors who owned a female black lab dog. This dog's name was/is Sadie. We own a male black lab dog whose name is Guinness. The only thing separating these two pups was a fence, and if we still lived there, that fence probably would not have kept these two love-pups away from each other much longer. Naturally, being the male, it was Guinness' fault, but Sadie was pretty cute, so who can blame him for trying to tunnel his way under the six foot wooden structure? So now that you have a little history, let's get on to the FSMSS...

My son - "Dad, what song is this?"
Me - "I dunno, let's check..."
I take the phone out of power save mode, and look at the screen. The screen says, "Sexy Sadie, by the Beatles"
We both laugh because it is the Beatles and he did not recognize his favorite band...then he says..."I bet Guinness would think of Sadie if he heard this song."

Yep, I went there!

2011-01-25T22:04:00.000-05:00

After a month long hiatus, I am back! Ready to go and ready to ponder away. I would say that my life has been so busy with super important activities that I was forced to put the blog on hold, but that is not the case. No, I simply did not have anything to write about. Hopefully I did not lose too many followers. Shoot, if I lose two, I've lost 25% of my readers! I guess there won't be a movie deal about the Pondering Dad anytime soon, huh? Movie deal or not, I am sorry for the delay, and I hope this story will make up for the lack of entertainment this past month. It made me chuckle thinking about it!

I, like most people, remember the days of our parents saying things like, "They didn't have color TV when I was your age!" or "We had to walk three miles to school...uphill...both ways...in the snow...barefoot!" and "E-mail? We used pen and paper!" (oh, wait, that was my generation) and so on. Also like most parents, I thought I would never see the day that I would say those things to my kid. Well, I saw that day today...and it was a rude awakening...followed by a far too intense pondering moment while my son and I were driving home from school.

I love music and so does my son. His tastes are similar to mine, but not exactly the same. He likes the Beatles, I do not. I like Pink Floyd, he says he does too. I like Depeche Mode, he's never heard of them. That is perfectly fine in my book. So, when we are driving home, we listen to the radio, usually a specific classic rock station that plays a wide range of sixties, seventies, and even eighties music. Generally, it works out great. Today, however, the station was lacking in the variety department, and we were both eager to switch the channel to find something else. Unfortunately, the rain must have washed away all of the good songs because every station we switched to was playing crap.

Now, I know there may be some more "experienced" readers out there, and I know we should be thankful that our car has a radio at all, because when the "experienced" readers were kids, they barely got to ride in a car at all. If they did have that rare opportunity, they certainly didn't have the luxury of listening to a radio! Yeah, I know, I've heard it before. But keep reading anyway, it gets better...

So, after exhausting all possible preset stations in an effort to find a song that we would both like, it dawned on me that I could use my MP3 player to play some songs. My MP3 player is actually my cellular phone that (among many other things) takes great pictures, is a movie camera too, a scheduler, an alarm clock, has games, can surf the Internet faster than dial-up (ask your parents what dial-up means) speeds ever did, has a compass, navigation, can tell you what stars you are looking at in the sky, and has "Apps" that have everything from recipes, a digital whoopee cushion, weather, sports scores and a bar-code scanner to name a few, and it does everything very well, except make a clear phone call...go figure. Yeah, I know, you had to stay in one spot when you wanted to talk on the phone and if you needed to go somewhere, you had to hang up when you were a kid. Of course, you could have done what I did and buy an extra long phone cord so you could, at least, walk from room to room...hey, that was thinking outside of the box back in the day! Yep, I had a mobile phone before they were ever invented! Anyway, I digress...

So, I plugged my cellular phone into the radio using a tape deck converter. For those of you too young to remember tape decks, stop reading, go do your homework, and go to bed. Just kidding. In case you do not understand what I am talking about, let me explain. My car has an AM/FM stereo cassette tape deck. Back in the early nineties, it was a pretty sweet system. In today's standards, not so much. But, it plays music (but only when the outside temperature is below 45...no, seriously, it really needs to be below 45, otherwise it does not work...don't ask me why, I have no idea, but its a fact.), and since that is what they are made to do, it is still being used. Funny thing is, I no longer have any cassette tapes, but I do have a tape converter!

The tape converter is a cassette tape body with a wire attached that runs out of the deck and plugs into another device, such as a CD player, MP3 player, or, in my case, a cellular phone. The plug goes into the headphone jack, and voila, you've got music pumping through your car stereo! To give you an idea of how old my tape deck is, I bought the converter to play my portable CD player...back when they were the rage...fortunately, the manufacturers of electronic gizmos did not do away with the headphone jack over the years, so the adapter still works.

So, as I was saying, I plugged my phone into the car stereo and put on the Pink Floyd radio station I created on Pandora. Pandora is an Internet radio station that is really, really, cool. If you haven't heard of it, and you like music, I highly recommend it. It is free (up to forty hours per month), except when you spend all of your money buying new CDs of the artists that you have never heard of before but found out how awesome they are thanks to Pandora. I think it is a conspiracy, but I'm still testing that theory to say for sure. Again, I digress...I really need to stop going off on these tangents, it is confusing me!

So, after plugging in my phone, and playing Pink Floyd radio, my son said, "Cool! Pink Floyd!" and then asked, "Is this a real radio station?" which confused me. I replied, "Well, of course it is, you hear the music, right?" He then clarified, "No, is it a radio station, or is it an Internet station that you pick the songs." (Sidebar note - He's nine...how does he know about Internet radio???) I explained that it was both. Pandora is an Internet radio station that you create, and based on your likes/dislikes it plays songs accordingly. Then it hit me...it is an Internet radio station. I am receiving Internet...in my CAR...a car that is almost as old as the Internet (as we know it) itself! I was so amazed at this now everyday occurrence that I had to say something to my son.

I started out by saying something like, "Do you know how cool this really is? Five years ago, playing Internet radio in your car was unheard of!" I went on with the amazement, "Just a few years ago, the only type of radio you could get in your car was whatever the local stations were playing. When I was your age, all I had were cassette tapes and if I wanted to download a song, I had to wait for it to come on the radio, hit record on the blank mix-tape and hope the stupid DJ wasn't going to ruin it by talking for ten seconds into the song, then pray that nobody was going to walk in the room and start talking and ruin the recording even more." I continued with my exciting commentary for a minute or two longer but stopped suddenly when I glanced over to the passenger seat, just in time to see my son's eyes glaze over. Yes, he was receiving the "When I was your age..." story and his reaction was exactly the same as mine when I was that age.

I went there. I never thought I would, but I did...and I did so with enthusiasm.

At that point, I shut up and continued talking to myself (in my head) and tried to wrap my brain around the thoughts of what his stories will be when he has a nine year-old sitting next to him as he is driving home from school, listening to some device that plays music. What is he going to say? Something like this, perhaps, "When I was your age, we had to listen to the Internet in the car if we wanted to listen to music. We didn't have the holographic band image playing in air-cruiser!"

So, yeah, I went there, just like my dad did to me, and probably like his dad did to him, and most likely like my son will do to my grandson and like my grandson will do to my great-grandson! But, I had to...after all, we were listening to the Internet in the car, for Pete's sake!

How did he do that?!?

2010-12-23T17:05:00.001-05:00

When I was a teenager, I did not think my parents knew anything. There was no possible way they knew the problems I was facing growing up. How could they? They were old and not in high school trying to fit in, falling in and out of love with girls, fighting for popularity but trying to seem indifferent, trying to figure out what to do on the weekend, worrying if that one special girl liked me, or if they would score the winning goal in the tournament against Lincoln High (which, I did, by the way...but that story is for another time). No, they had no idea what I was going through.


Dad, I don't need your advice about how I look and getting through customs!

When I turned twenty (or thereabouts), I started to see that my parents actually did know a thing or two. Not everything, of course, but some of time, they got it right. Thirty, yeah, they were pretty smart and they knew a lot more than I gave them credit for. At thirty, I also began to realize that I knew things that teenagers did not know. I also realized, later into my thirties, that what I thought was significant in my twenties was really not that important. When I missed that New Year's party because I was sick and missed seeing that girl, who's name escapes me, it really wasn't going to be the end of the world, even though I thought then that it was...life went on, and now I barely remember why I wanted to see her in the first place.

I was learning that I will never stop learning. Life's lessons would never stop, and that was okay. What scares me now, at nearly forty, is that I think I have a pretty good grasp on things, but I am aware that I still have a lot more to learn. Of course, I wonder, now more than ever, how much information my parents have at their young age and what they can still teach me. And I wonder what it is that I think I know now will turn out to be quite insignificant in another ten years.

The part that scares me the most is, I see what my nine year-old son considers significant moments in his life. He is petrified that he will have the "worst Christmas ever" because he isn't going to get a Corinthian battle helmet. According to him, all he is going to get is a thousand Star Wars figures and nothing else. Boy, life is rough for the little guy, huh? He is confused about Santa, worried about being teased because he is wearing a "puffy" jacket (its actually a pretty nice ski jacket, but you can't tell him that...he thinks parents don't know anything), and concerned that we do not care about him because we "force" him to eat his veggies at dinner.

So, it makes me chuckle inside when these world-ending events are expressed through his words and frustrations, knowing that I cannot say anything to him that will make him think we actually know a thing or two...no, we have about another 12 years before that happens. But, back to the part that scares me the most...what is it that I think I know now and that is cause for deep concern on my part, that my parents are secretly chuckling about in their motor-home, as they enjoy retirement in warm and sunny Arizona? What do my parents know that I have yet to figure out? One hint of the power of experience and knowledge came to fruition just today...

On occasion, my dad will send me e-mails with a link to some funny website, or some neat thing someone has done somewhere in the world. Usually the link is related to something I like; for example, one recent link was about a model railroad set-up in Germany that was so grand the people who built it charge admission just for anyone interested in taking a gander at the miniature world. Based on the link, I would consider buying a plane ticket to Germany just to have the chance at seeing this amazing model. Another link may be of a Ferrari on a race track, or a photo contest in North Carolina where I might have a chance at winning a prize. Whatever the link, historically, it has always had some significance and was, 99.9% of the time, of some interest to me. But his last e-mail with a link embedded in it, left me feeling baffled. I had no idea why he sent it to me...until today.

My dad's last e-mail (received yesterday), was a link to a Jacques Pepin video on how to make an omelet. I cannot recall ever expressing a desire to learn how to create the perfect omelet, at least not within my dad's listening space. As I was watching this strange video, I kept waiting to see something pop up on the screen and scare me half to death (my dad is a great prankster), or wondering when the pretty French lady was going to enter the screen, but neither happened. No, this video was exactly what it said it was; "This is how you should cook an omelet." Plain and simple. Confused, I closed the window and went on about my day, not once thinking about the link, until today.

Here is where it gets scary...is this power he has something I get to look forward to? Can he see the future?

Yesterday ended without a lot of exciting events and my dad's e-mail was sitting in my brain's recycling bin, waiting to be dumped out with the rest of the useless junk that is stored in there. Fortunately, much like my computer, I forget to hit the empty button and clean out the trivial items in my noggin. This morning, I awoke to my son knocking on my bedroom door. His simple question, "Dad, will you help me make breakfast?" Sure, I said as I somehow managed to muster the strength to roll out of bed...literally, roll out.

Once I found my socks, and shirt, my next task was to find my glasses so that I could see where I was going. The glasses did not help much, since my brain was still foggy from the deep sleep I was enjoying so much. But, I managed to make it downstairs to see a few ingredients and a cookbook on the island in the kitchen. Leaning over the book was my son. Apparently, he is enjoying this cooking thing, I thought silently. That thought was immediately followed with, oh geez, what is he trying to make...and will I have to eat it?

"Dad, will you help me make an omelet?"

My mouth twisted in a bewildered manner, my eyes widened with a mystified gaze, and my eyebrow rose with bemusement. I couldn't repeat the expression if I tried...not even for a million bucks. Did he just ask me if I would help him make an omelet?

How did he do that? How did my dad know that I would need to know how to make an omelet the next day? What told him to send me a link that I would have little interest in, only to find out that I really needed that enlightenment? At that moment, I wished that I could have looked at my dad, thanked him, hugged him, and forced him to sit down with me and teach me everything that he knows...and, also, partake in the upcoming omelet. Like my son, however, I have to learn these things on my own...in time...through life's little lessons and experiences, but how cool will this ride be! Yippee! I'm going to be able to tell the future, just like Dad!

So, Dad, if you are reading this, thank you. Not only for sending me the perfect link, just when I needed it most, but for everything you have done for me and for everything you have not done for me. I can now appreciate what you have gone through - making choices of when to teach, when to back off and let me fall, when to pick me up and carry me, and when to stand tall and say he's my boy (hopefully once or twice I made you feel proud!). If I am half the dad to G that you are to me, my boy has a pretty good chance. And, thank you very much for the very tasty omelet this morning...it was perfect.

How to make an omelet - Click HERE

A very cool train set - Click HERE

I never thought I'd say this, but, thank you BOTH for teaching me how to cook!

Thanks for ALL of the awesome Christmases!

What have I created???

2010-12-20T16:09:00.000-05:00

Being unemployed around the holidays does have its perks. Not many, but some. One of those perks is that I can spend more time with my son while he is on Winter Break and teach him some pretty neat things that I would not have been able to if I had a job. Don't get me wrong, I really, really, really, wish I had a job right now, but...

Anyway, the last lesson he learned from me was about cooking. Yes, I said cooking. Thanks to my mother teaching me when I was a kid (see, Mom, I did listen to some things you said!), I have some inkling of a idea of what I am supposed to do while in the kitchen. My feeble attempt to pass the minimal knowledge I have on to my son is met with the same enthusiasm I must have shown when I was the pupil. Sorry, Mom, I should have listened more! Maybe he will retain the lessons, like I did, somehow...hopefully.

The main lesson I try to always teach him is, a good cook always cleans up after him or herself. This is the main lesson my mother taught me, but now that I am wiser, I am wondering if she really believed that, or if it was just a ploy to get me to clean up after her, instead of her after me, like any other day. Either way, I am using the lesson for both reasons, now. Yes, you should clean up after yourself, but something tells me a top-notch chef has his/her own crew to clean up after them...but don't tell that to my son.

Another lesson I was trying to teach him was that a good cook knows the taste of different spices and foods and is able to mix-and-match items that would taste good together without needing someone else to tell them it would work. For example, if I am preparing a dish that calls for cheddar cheese and I, uhhh, I mean my son, happened to eat all of the cheddar cheese the other day while making melted cheese and crackers for a late night snack, I would know that the Colby cheese we have in the fridge is similar to cheddar and it would probably work well as a substitute. Just as I would know that Swiss cheese would give the dish a completely different flavor.

I also mentioned that a good cook is able to create his or her own dishes from throwing together various ingredients that he or she knows would work well together. I used an example of what not to do, based on my personal experimentation when I was a youngin' and decided to put cinnamon (I love cinnamon) in spaghetti sauce (I love spaghetti, so why not mix the two!?!?), along with a few other spices I had lying around. Needless to say, I learned from my mistake and cinnamon no longer comes anywhere near my spaghetti sauce!

What I failed to realize is, his little wheels were turning and turning, concocting a new dish in his mind as I spoke. Since dinner was already made and in the oven, he decided he was going to make dessert...without my help! So, in a sense, he was actually listening to me...he never listens when I say put your socks away, clean up your toys when you are done, or wear your coat in the cold weather, so why would I think he would listen now? Here's what he made...

Grabbing a few round pita-like bread pieces for the base, he spread Nutella as the first ingredient. Clearly wanting more, he then reached for the chocolate sauce, marshmallows, apples, grapes, strawberries, a Snickers bar from Halloween, and...wait for it...cinnamon. Uh-oh, I thought..not the cinnamon! Now, normally I would be ok with strawberries and chocolate, or marshmallows and Nutella, and maybe even a little cinnamon on an apple slice...hey, I might even go for a Snickers bar and grapes, but generally, I would not want all of these ingredients placed on a 100% whole wheat, healthy piece of pita bread...with cinnamon.

Fortunately, I was able to convince him that the apples, strawberries and grapes should be put on after the dessert sandwiches came out of the oven (the marshmallows had to melt, of course). He placed it in the hot oven for a few minutes then asked me to help him take it out - smart kid! I tried to hide my unenthusiastic look as best I could when I saw the warmed product.

So, here he had made a dessert from scratch, baked it, placed the fruit on top, and was anxiously waiting for us to eat it. But, I must say, the final presentation of the dish was very beautiful, and it almost look like it was made by a seasoned cook...but I still knew what it was made of.

As I hesitated to allow my taste buds to sample his perceived delicacy, I wondered what I was going to do if it was atrocious. I shuttered at the thought of the healthy pita holding the sweets together. I was afraid, very afraid. Obviously, I did not want to squish any future desires for him to cook, and I certainly did not want to hurt his feelings after his valiant effort, so I practiced my surprised and pleased face in my mind, waiting for the right moment to let it show.

I took a bite...hmmmmm....yeah, there's the cinnamon...but just a hint of it...nice...yum, there's the chocolate sauce and melted marshmallows....hmmm, like a s'more...not bad....Snickers bar piece...uh-huh...tasty...and the pita...crunchy enough from the oven that it all blended together rather well. HA! I did not have to fake it! It was actually, okay! I don't think it will make the dessert menu at Legal Seafood or Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, but it wasn't bad, I must say. Yes, I was impressed...that is, until the next day when he wanted to do it again, but with white sandwich bread (he used all of the pita), Nutella, cinnamon, and cheese...