“Wock This Way” or is it “Ralk Like a Man”?

“Why is he walking like that?”

I asked myself the same question as Peter when I first noticed Philip’s unusual gait. Picture a cartoon cowboy who has just dismounted his horse and moves with his legs apart as if he is still astride his steed. That was the way that I observed Philip walking.

Why is he walking like that?

The exaggerated stance slowed Philip down. When I was in a hurry, I got irritated by the delay. Then I would feel guilty, wondering if Philip’s diaper was full. When I could, I would check only to find a dry diaper.

Why is he walking like that?

I wasn’t asking this as a rhetorical question. It became a mystery that I wanted  to unravel.  Philip’s behavior is a form of communication. I like to make an effort to understand the purpose behind his actions so that I can help or get out of the way, whichever the situation requires.

Why is he walking like that?

I finally figured it out one day when Philip stopped walking, but continued to rock. It suddenly dawned on me that Philip was combining walking and rocking into wocking. Or ralking.

“Why is he walking like that?” Peter asked.

“He’s walking and rocking at the same time. At least he’s still moving forward.”

Forward progress is a wonderful thing.

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Linking up with the Yeah Write #110 Weekend Moonshine Grid. It’s safe to drink up the posts and then drive. Safe travels this holiday weekend as you remember those who sacrificed their lives for our freedom.

The penny pincher

Today, Philip received a piggy bank from his grandma. Peter had been putting our spare change into an old cigar box. He got it down from its shelf to move the dimes, quarters and pennies into Philip’s new bank.

Peter was going to do it himself, but I knew that Philip would love to hear the coins go “clank!” in the shiny piggy. Plus, picking up the change would be a great task for working on his fine motor skills.

One of those ausome things

This weekend, at two separate family gatherings, two different people meeting Philip for first time had the same thing to say about him:

“Look at how he keeps himself entertained. He sure is having fun!”

Both times, Philip was playing with objects that he had found in the yard. He kept finding new ways to play them. He explored each object completely, looking at them from different angles and incorporating them into his stims.

Sidewalk art from found objects: just one example of how Philip can creatively play by himself

It was nice to hear others speak appreciatively of Philip’s ability to play alone. When Philip was diagnosed with autism, isolation was pointed out to us as a flaw. Yet, shouldn’t all things be done in moderation? Isn’t it okay if Philip likes playing alone and has the ability to do so? How exhausted would we be if Philip demanded our attention 24/7? How much worse would Philip be if he was never able to exercise independence?

At the end of April, I vowed to start my own list of “1,000 Ausome Things.” I’ll be adding this post to the emerging collection. I welcome readers’ suggestions, too. Do you have a story of an autistic person being ausome? Have you read a story portraying autistics in a positive light? Tell me about in the comments so the list of ausome can keep on growing.

Infuse, hydrate-and persevere

I’m not going to reach my goal.

It’s less than three months until my birthday, and I am not on pace to reach my weight loss goal.

This realization is enough to make me want to say “To hell with it!” and start binge-eating. Who am I kidding? I’ve already tried that, and it didn’t make me feel any better.

I’ve been looking back at the posts I’ve written so far to remind myself what my real goal is: to be healthier. I’ve been employing a variety of strategies, trying to build new habits. The strategies aren’t the problem, but my inconsistent implementation of them is. I have some excuses if you’d like to hear them.

No? Moving on then.

I’m not going to reach a certain number on the scale by my birthday, but I’m making better choices in what and how I eat than I ever used to. I’m not exercising as much as I want to or should, but I’ve added some new options to my fitness repertoire.

As the temperature (finally!) gets warmer, getting outdoors to exercise is easier. Therefore, staying hydrated is a must. One of the easiest ways I’ve found to avoid calories is to not drink them. However, I find that water can get boring. There are many calorie-free products that add flavor, but I do worry about artificial sweeteners.

My friend told me about a recent purchase she made: an infusion pitcher. It sounded intriguing, so I purchased one for myself. There are many models available, but I opted for this one:

Lemon & strawberry is a tasty combination. This pitcher also came with an ice core to keep the beverage chilled.

I tried it out last week. For my first pitcher-full, I opted to use lemon and strawberry. The water turned a delightful shade of pink and had a very subtle flavor. This week, I threw a lime in. I’m looking forward to trying new combinations in the future.

Now that I have the ability to flavor my own water naturally, my next purchase will be a new water bottle. I have one I keep at work, but I’d like to leave it there. I want one to drink during my morning commute, so I plan on picking up an aluminum one. I don’t want any excuses not to drink water.

I don’t want any excuses not to be healthier.

This post is the May edition of my “Minus 38 by my 38th” series. Each month I’m writing one post about lifestyle changes I’m making so that I can lose weight and improve my health by my next birthday.

The Preschool Picnic

Despite my best efforts to deny it, yesterday was the last day of preschool for Philip for the year. This morning, there were no classes. Instead, students and their families gathered at a city park for an end-of-year picnic.

Philip had a great time even though he had been up since 3:30 am. If he had been better rested, we would have stayed longer to let him enjoy playing in the tot lot, making bubbles, jumping in the bounce house and hanging out with his classmates, teachers and other staff.

My mom joined us, which was a good thing since she was able to take more pictures than me. I won’t post all of the pictures here. Instead, I’ve selected one that represents all of the progress Philip has made since he began preschool almost two years ago.

Back then, he cried at the dolls. He cried when they took him to the bookmobile. He cried when they tried to get him to wash his hands. He cried any time he encountered something new.

Gradually, gently, at both home and at preschool, we have been working on reducing Philip’s anxiety in new situations. While a bit of caution is certainly valuable, we all want to make sure that Philip experiences and interacts with a variety of activities, places and things. I just want him to have the opportunity to choose not to do something again rather than having fear prevent him from missing out on experiences he might enjoy.

That’s why, when Philip had the opportunity to look at and pet a variety of farm animals brought to the park by the local FFA (Future Farmer’s of America), we seized it. And when one of the students asked him, “Do you want to sit on the donkey?”, we let him try.

And he didn’t cry.

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No tears over at the Yeah Write Weekend Moonshine Grid either. Stop by to read or link up!

Where Butterflies Grow

The latest book from Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library arrived in the mail last Tuesday. Philip is now the proud owner of Where Butterflies Grow by Joanne Ryder, illustrated by Lynne Cherry.

Now that school is out for the summer, we’ll be hitting the books at home. Ryder’s book teaches about the life cycle of butterflies and will be a great addition to our home library.

Thanks again to the United Way of Ashland County for bringing this program to our community.

Not a mother figure

“I’m scared,” my sister-in-law sobbed into the phone.

I stopped myself before I said something unhelpful or asinine like, “Don’t be scared.”

Instead I replied, “I imagine you are. I wish I knew what to say or do.”

Peter’s youngest sister was diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks ago. On Monday, the surgeon scheduled her mastectomy for the end of the week. She called Tuesday morning as I was getting ready for work with a request.

“Do you think you could have your mom call me?” she asked. “I need a mom to talk to. I wish my mom was here.”

Her plea almost incapacitated me. My husband’s mother was gone before I even met him. I know if I were in the same situation, the first person I would call after Peter would be my mom.

“I’ll call her today and ask her to speak with you,” I promised.

“They’re taking my breast,” she said. “And I need a mom to talk to. No offense to you, but I need someone like my own mom,” she apologized.

My sister-in-law is older than me. Even though I am a mom, there is no way that I am a mother figure for her.

“Don’t apologize. I understand,” I assured her.

I was secretly relieved that she wanted to talk to someone else. I can understand her fear about the breast removal since any surgery has risks, but I can’t say that I would be able to relate to her sense of impending loss.

That evening after work, I decided to confide this to Peter.

I tried making light of it. “If I were in your sister’s place, I think you would miss my breast more than me.”

He smiled, but looked at me quizzically.

“You know, the whole purpose of a breast is to provide milk.” I stopped. I was no longer joking.

When I was pregnant, I had decided to breastfeed. It took Philip’s near dehydration when he was a few days old to realize that my body was not producing milk and never would.

Through tears I continued. “I feel like my breasts betrayed me.” My voice barely a whisper I concluded, “I wouldn’t care if they were gone.”

I cried, the pain, the feeling of personal failure and the sense of loss still lingering almost five years later.

“You didn’t hurt him,” Peter said quietly. “He is okay.”

I know he is right. I know I should forgive my body.

I just resent that I didn’t get to be a complete mother figure.