Plenty of ears

We're walking home from school.  As usual, Jeremy is talking constantly on one side of me, and Abigail is keeping up her own monologue on the other.

Me: I really can't listen to both of you at the same time!

Abi: But you have two ears.  Use one ear for me and one ear for Jem Jem.

Me: My ears can hear you, but my brain can't sort out what you're saying!

Abi: Well, use your ears inside that.

Me: I don't think I have any more ears inside that!

Abi: I have a whole museum of ears.

Me: A museum of ears?!  That may be one of the strangest things I've heard all day.

Abi: It's an ear room.  I can hear the wind rustling AND that car driving at the same time.  So you see, I have plenty of ears.

Lots of naughty

Here's a tiny drama from this morning.

The scene: It's Sunday morning.  Abigail has got up early, refused anything resembling breakfast and eventually agreed to eat her untouched school packed lunch from the fridge.  Mummy has left her with this and CBeebies, made herself a cup of tea and gone upstairs to sort things out.  Jeremy has pottered down to watch CBeebies, and TheRev is in the study, printing stuff.

Mummy comes back down the stairs to find Abi waiting at the bottom.

Abi: (With relish) Mummy! I beened lots of naughty.

Mummy: Uh oh.

Abi: But, I want to be friends.

Mummy: Okay.  Well, what did you do?

Abi: I eated my spoon.

Mummy: Sorry.  You ate your what?

Abi: My spoon.

Mummy: Your - I - I'm not sure I've understood.  You ate a spoon?

Abi: Can we be friends?

Mummy: A spoon?  Are you sure?

Abi: Yes.

Mummy: Can you show me?

Abi leads Mummy to the sitting room and points to the remains of her packed lunch.  The plastic baby spoon which was with the (unopened) yoghurt now only has half a spoon on the handle.

Mummy: You ATE a SPOON?  But how...why...I mean, the other bit must be somewhere!  Did you swallow it?

Abi: Are we friends?

Mummy: Yes but where's the SPOON?  Is it in your tummy?

Abi: I don't know.  I spitted it out.

Mummy: Then why can't I see it anywhere?

Jem: Abi putted cheese on mine train.

Mummy: Oh.  Yes, I can see that, but - Jem, did you see her eat a spoon?

Jem: *proffering train* Clean it!

Mummy: I can't really...here, have a wipe...Daddy, come in here, I think Abi has actually eaten a spoon!

Daddy: I'm coming!  That's just printing, I can help get the kids dressed.

Mummy: They are already dressed.  The issue here is that one of them has eaten a spoon.

There follows a time of panic as we both hunt for the other bit of the spoon and consider the idea that our food phobic daughter has managed to consume a sharp bit of plastic for breakfast

Daddy: It's really gone!

Mummy: What's that in...Jeremy's hair!  It's in his hair!


Yes, that funny green thing in Jem's hair was really the top of the spoon, affixed with cream cheese.

It is a miracle every Sunday that we get to church on time.

That's what it's all about

Last week, we received Abigail's 'Learning Journey' home from nursery.  This brilliant book allows us to be flies on the wall of her classroom over her time there: it contains photos, worksheets, artwork and milestones, all surrounded by comments from her key worker and other teachers and helpers who observed her.

Some of the reports are lovely to read, like the key worker's comment: "It is a pleasure to work with Abigail.  She can always make me smile."

Some of them are spot-on descriptions of her character: "Abigail knows her own mind and can make her own choices about what she wants to do and how she wants to do it.  Abigail still needs some support with colour and shape recognition, however I believe Abigail knows more than she lets on".

I enjoyed all the references to Abigail's love of books, especially the one that said "Given the choice, she would rather read a book" (sounds just like me!) and the form that listed 'Interests' as simply 'Books'.

It was a treat to see all the photographs of Abi engaged with her peers in various activities.  Once again, my girl is definitely recognisable: spinning around in a corner (with the other children all sitting neatly in a circle at the edge of the shot); dressing up in a princess dress and a bright blue wig; completely absorbed in creating a line of toy vehicles; and two pictures in which she inexplicably has a large amount of play doh sticking to her face.  There are also pictures of her doing puzzles and sorting activities with lots of solemn concentration, and great shots of grins and giggles with other children.

My very favourite, however, the cream of all the comments and the truest-to-life description of my wonderful daughter, was on the back of a worksheet on which Abigail had traced over dots to write the number 4 multiple times.  The comment on the back tells me exactly which fingers she was using to hold her pencil, what she said all the colours were, how much support she needed, how well she understood the task and how long she kept at it before she lost interest in it, but none of that matters.  At the bottom of the comments is written the one I want to frame and keep for ever:

"The whole time Abigail was doing this sheet, she was singing the Hokey Cokey."

Love her.

The Rev's Family Expressions of PosAutivity: #AutismPositivity2014

I'm taking part in the 2014 Flash Blog of Autism Positivity.

This is, as it says on the tin, a day at the end of a month of "autism awareness" (which, though well-meant, can very often spread depressing and downright damaging views of autism) when hundreds of bloggers come together to write positively about autism and autistic people.

This year's theme is communication: "This year we hope to highlight the importance of flexibility in communication within our diverse community and honour multiple forms of personal expression" (official guidelines)

*****

Language is not Abigail's first language.  She is doing ever so well at it, but it doesn't come naturally.  She speaks, as TheRev puts it, like somebody using a phrase book: echoes from television, bedtime stories and overheard conversation are all stored in her extraordinary library of a mind, where they are broken down, mixed up and carefully chosen for use in every conversation.  She takes comfort in scripts and songs which are the same every time.

She started to learn language in echoes of full sentences and phrases.  If she's learned that a phrase is an acceptable answer to a question (because it was true the first time) then it becomes the answer to that question every time: for a while, the answer to the question "Why is s/he crying" was always "Because my hitted him" even if it was a character in a book!   Sometimes, a word selection accidentally triggers an echo, meaning that her reply to your question isn't at all what she meant to say.  Sometimes she accidentally does it to herself: "I'm going to turn the page" she announced to me, before turning off the light.

The way she listens and speaks may make communication difficult sometimes, but at other times it's like living with a tiny unintentional poet, a walking box of connections and combinations all sparking and hissing and flashing at once.

Rather than try to describe it any further, I'm going to make a list of quotations from my journal that will hopefully give you some idea, both of how incredibly quickly she's learning, and of the amazing things that can by done with words by a child for whom language is not her first language.

30/05/13
Tiffer says, in conversation, that he thinks something is less important.  Abi shouts: "It's not less important, it's FULL OF PORRIDGE!"

2/10/13 Abi's response to being asked what she did at nursery today: "I just played happily.  Then I done a song about the sleeping butterflies.  I think butterflies do sleep on something, it's just a pillow and a blanket and all the way back to bed, and then they go in a wirrelbarrel all the way home".

15/10/13
"I have an idea, how about we can play instead?  It's playtime, that why we can play, and the time is play."  (Actually, it was bedtime!)

29/10/13
Abi's response to my reaction upon discovering that she had drawn in orange highlighter on our hosts' pillowcase: "Don't worry Mummy.  It's not the matter.  It's GREAT!"

25/11/13
Me: Abi, we need to change your trousers, those are too small.
Her: No, those are too fine, they are just my same.

25/01/14
Abi is very interested that I am eating chocolate.  "Have you beened a GOOD Mummy?"

11/02/14
Me: What does an angel say, Abi?  (This is a script that we've been doing together since before Christmas, and the answer has always been "Don't be afraid, I've got good news for you", which comes from a favourite Christmas song on video).
Her: Don't be afraid. I got something in my pocket to good news you. 

19/03/14
Mummy, are you feeling better, or are you properly poorly?

1/04/14
Me: Abi, please put that magazine into my bag now.
Her: No, I won't do that.  Putting in bags is not good for magazines.

Epiphany notes to self

It has become something of an Epiphany tradition, as we pack up the decorations, to leave little notes among them for us to find next year.  The notes we found as we unpacked the boxes this year included a copy of the new song we'd learned for the Advent wreath, a card by Abigail with a description of how she had made it and a note from me to future me which simply said, "Roll up your sleeves - the madness is about to begin!"  Finding them was special and we will definitely be doing the same again this year; in a similar spirit, I've decided to write a blog post addressed to my future self, just rolling up her sleeves for Advent 2014.

Dear Amy,
You may remember 2013 as the year when presents were remarkably organised. This is because you went online in October and ordered most of Amazon. You also went to jumble sales from the summer onwards and had a hiding place for potential stocking presents. I applaud you - do that again.  One way you could improve on 2013's performance is to use the extra time that your stunning gift prowess gives you to send some cards before the final posting date.
You may also remember Christmas 2013 as a somewhat frustrating one.  The first Christmas after Abi's diagnosis of autism, you tried to do everything "normal" despite having long since abandoned "normal" in your everyday life, and then despaired when it didn't work.  There were some extra lovely moments too, though, and I hope you remember those: her word-perfect knowledge of all the Christmas songs she did at nursery (even though she didn't sing them on the stage), her serious face as she decorated the tree almost single-handed, the way that Baby Jesus was always 'poorly' for some unknown reason and that the stable was a 'farm' for the first few weeks of Advent, but did eventually become a stable when "Mary and Jophiss and the poorly poorly baby" moved in.
For this 6th January, I've written 6 tips to get you through next year more smoothly. I hope you don't mind.  Of course, knowing Abi and the way that she learns, you're probably not going to need a single one of these tips next year - she'll have the whole Christmas thing in her stride by then, I'm sure.  Here they are just in case.  You've found blogs by people on similar journeys very useful over the past year; if you don't need this list, perhaps somebody else will.

1) I know you're Mrs Advent and you've been waiting several decades to inflict 586 different traditions on your children.  It's unmanageable and overwhelming for any small child.  Get a grip.  Until they are older, pick one Advent tradition - Jesse tree, calendar or figures in the stable - and stick to it.  Put it somewhere out of reach and make time to do it at the same time every day.  This way you may actually end up with an enjoyable, meaningful routine which they remember.  Also, you will stay sane and avoid spending your evenings replacing 22 little figures behind fiddly doors.

2) At the time of writing, Abi has not yet grasped that between saying "Juice please" and drinking juice, there must be a time when Mummy goes to fetch the juice.  Waiting is hard.  24 days of waiting is not even comprehensible.  But 24 days of waiting when you have no idea what you're waiting for?!  Everything you tried to talk about this year resulted in her either wanting or not wanting it, vehemently and IMMEDIATELY.  Leave the Christmas talk until the last few days of Advent, because it risks building up into anxiety rather than anticipation.  She'll go through it all in school anyway.  Once the holidays have begun, why not prepare for Christmas 2014 by watching home videos of Christmas 2013?  They're probably more realistic and informative than Charlie and Lola.

3) Leave any family festive outings until after the 25th.  Poor Abi, in the week before Christmas, went through two birthday parties, her first nativity play, her nursery Christmas party, a school fair and managed to meet Santa through sheer accident three times. She really didn't need your trip to the garden centre to see the pretty lights.

4) For heaven's sake don't give the children chocolate, not even in their stockings.  They are going to get far more of the sweet stuff than they could ever healthily eat, even if you try to ration it out over the whole year as an enticement to every meal, and you will end up scoffing it furtively and feeling guilty because it was meant for them.

5) Sing.  It's the thing Abi picks up quickest.  I expect that next year, Jeremy will too.  John Hardwick's songs mean that Abi already knows what angels say.  How many carols tell the whole nativity story?

6) Don't panic.  When Abi wakes up at 6am screaming and sobbing that she doesn't want any presents, just go with it.  Snuggle up in bed and talk about something else, and be grateful for an extra year that won't be ruled by materialism.  Similarly, when Jeremy develops a fear of gifts and runs screaming whenever you try to give him one, just unwrap them all and hand over the toys.  It may not feel quite right, but then neither does chasing a sobbing toddler around the house with a parcel.  The day is never going to look the way it does in your head, whether you were anticipating schmaltz or catastrophe.  If you relax about it, they'll enjoy it, whatever it looks like - and so will you.