4 questions in under 4 minutes...

...and all before 6:30am, and before my coffee.

Questions:

1. "What does 'just a minute' means?"

2. "What does 'shove' means?"

3. "What does 'dufus' means?"

4. "What does 'offer' means?"

Answer key:

1. "Just a minute means wait until I'm done with this [getting the coffee maker started] before you shove the chips at me" [to put them in a cup for her, because who doesn't want potato chips for breakfast?].

2. "Shove means when you go like this [I shove the chips back at her]. Don't do that. It's not nice."

3. "Dufus is like saying dummy [language in Scooby Doo cartoons can be a problem]. Don't say that. It's not nice."

4. "I don't know [something else from Scooby Doo, and I missed the context]."

Label or no label

The dentist doesn't get it ("Does she still have that diagnosis, because she seems to be doing GREAT!") and the neurologist doesn't get it ("So who told you she has autism? What does she do? Because I don't see it.") but the landlord sure gets it after she parked in front of our house where AKA is not used to seeing anyone park, which made the school bus have to stop in a different place...and I heard AKA yelling about it before the bus doors even opened. Then she almost fell down the steps out of the bus in her hurry to find out who parked "in our spot" and tell them off, which she did.

So there was my 4 year old, facing down our very stiff faced, no-nonsense, landlord (a middle-aged childless woman who does not seem very amused by children at all) and interrupting her conversation with the arborist who was there to give an estimate on trimming the hedge, to scold her about being in our spot and "I don't want you to do that anymore!" The landlord and arborist were held captive and wide-eyed by the ranting until I expertly distracted AKA with offers of chocolate pudding and herded her into the house though she was still sputtering about the outrage.

The next day I got a message from the landlord letting me know that the arborist would be back the following week to trim the hedge but that she had arranged for him to complete the job before the 3pm school bus, to avoid upsetting AKA.

I wouldn't have asked for that sort of special arrangement because I don't like to be petty and we have such bigger battles that we can handle these types of smaller freak outs--but just by what she witnessed, the landlord gets it. That was nice for a change. Now if the so-called medical experts could get it and realize that autism is a spectrum, there are no two cases alike, and a high-functioning autistic child isn't going to always be "doing" something autistic--unless you offend her by parking in the wrong place or any of the other atrocities that might set her off.

Oh yeah, and somehow it's okay for the condition of spina bifida occulta to be a spectrum, as the neurologist explained to me, but she doesn't believe autism is a spectrum, and thinks high functioning kids are wrongly diagnosed because that is labeling and apparently labeling is much worse than getting treatment and help.

If I had a quarter for every time someone warned me about labeling...

Label or no label, the speech, social and adaptive delays are still there.Without a label AKA is still a kid in special ed receiving services for developmental delay. She is still labeled "special ed." Special ed services are based on need, not on diagnosis. The people who are afraid of "labeling" are usually the same ones who choose to live in denial, and for them an irrational fear of "labeling" is a lot easier than tackling the intricacies and unknowns of the autism spectrum.

Magic School Bus out, Scoobie Doo in...

...which has led to new sources of word confusion such as--

"Mommy, what mister monster is?"

and

"Mommy, what jinkies is?"

AKA seemed to buy my explanation that "jinkies" is just a silly thing Velma likes to say. Since AKA prefers the female characters on Scoobie Doo (which is a switch from her Ralphie/Arnold/Carlos Magic School Bus obsession), maybe the fact that Velma wears her glasses all the time and often states, "I can't see without my glasses!" will make an impression on AKA, who seems to prefer the world blurry--rather than wear her new glasses.

And--I tried to explain that Mr. Monster is just a silly thing to say and that "mister" is a word that goes with a man's name, like "Mr. Rogers." But no, now she thinks that the title Mr. applies specifically to monsters.

Our friend, Sally

Last month as we were leaving a playdate at Carl's Jr. playland (known to AKA as "the star place"), she saw a girl getting into a car, far across the parking lot and asked me, "What's her name?"

As if I would know...?


I gave the answer that I give to these such tough questions:

"I don't know."

(Incidentally, the one question where this answer does NOT work is, "Mommy, what does I don't know means?")

After a few more exchanges of the same question, same answer--she decided the girl's name must be "Sally."

Unwilling to try to explain that I don't have the superpower to know the names of strangers, and since we'd never see that girl again, I gave my standard response to non-question statements:

"O-kay."

Little did I know, that a month later...

we would still be talking about Sally.


"--just like that girl, Sally, at the star place--"

R2-D2

What began as a mild personification of the blankie has now become a full blown OCD/stimming thing. It started with a high pitched squeal she makes with her mouth closed like a screaming ventriloquist. That alone was bad enough. But she says that's how blankie talks. Well fine okay. But now "blankie's" vernacular has grown to include a sort of guttural, machine gun artillery sound--with an added element of tongue clicking that sounds like an African dialect. Put it all together and it's R2-D2 from Star Wars...all the time! Hiding the blankie doesn't make it stop because the sound seems to have crossed over into the permanent files where she can access it easily and constantly for use, without requiring a prop. And I thought I had bought the noise-blocking headphones for her!