Autism and Church

I wonder if my other blog should shift from Autism and Public Schools, which many people advocate and talk about and research so much better than me, to Autism and Church.

I stumbled across this idea this evening... of a focus on Autism at a church service on February 8th. I wonder if my church might be open to it.

As part of it, I would be willing to --actually, relieved to -- speak and say that DB has autism and how that manifests itself in the way he acts and thinks at church. (Wonder if Husband would be open to that...)

There is another child at church with autism and other more severe disabilities as well, which might be eye-opening for our congregation to see the spectrum.

This was our experience today:

Toward the beginning of the service, DB said "Amen" after the Lord's Prayer, and I thought how funny it is that someone who overheard him might think he was saying "Amen" to the prayer. In fact, I know he was correcting the pronunciation -- most everyone near us said "ah-men" and he prefers "ay-men".

Then during the children's sermon, as usual he was unable to keep from blurting out the answers when the minister asks them all a question. (Someone has actually commented to Husband about this. Someone with a well-behaved, hand-raising child of course.)

At least he only eyed up the communion elements as he walked past and did not try to take any. Whew!

In his Sunday School class, DuckyBoy does well sometimes and other times not, and the teacher rotates so no one quite knows how to deal with him. They are wonderful moms with good hearts but the best they can do is tolerate him for the 30 minutes. I know he's disruptive, today I get the impression he was intractible. (He's been "off" the past few days anyway, and , I forgot his snack.) He also told me tonight a boy in class told him he was a baby, or playing with a baby toy, he described what he was playing with but I don't know what it was. On the upside, he reconnected with his old friend K., and they drew pictures for each other (the project was to draw for a secret pal in the class and give them the artwork, and apparently they picked each other.)

He flat-out tells the beautifully-voiced soprano who volunteers her time to sing with them that he doesn't like her, her voice, etc. *Sigh.*

DB also got us in an embarrassing situation today after church. Kids are allowed to play in the gym during coffee hour, but, well I'll admit it, they are supposed to be supervised by their parents. He has always been good about coming to get us when he needs us, but today he got a little hurt or something ( I still don't know if it was physical or his feelings that got hurt) and while one mom tried to comfort him, another came to get us.

And, well, she had a few patronizing words for us, too, about how we "might want to keep an eye on him" ... "because he likes to play with the bigger kids and yadda yadda" and "I try to keep an eye on him because my son is there too" and "I think he's hungry" and I think Husband wanted to strangle her. (Edited to add: Later on, Husband was grateful she'd come to get us.)

Anyway, today's experience made me look around a bit on the web. Preliminary search turns up a few drips and drabs -- like a good article from 2002 about a mom and her young child, a Dad's heartfelt post that rang true for me, and a decent-sounding book, Autism and Your Church, though it may be more for my children's ministry coordinator than me.

Since I said an hour ago I was going to go to bed and since tomorrow is The Grind Begins Again Day with the 6 AM alarm, I will cease research for the night. But it's not like I came up with anything that covers the topic extensively. I think there might be a place for me.

Groundhog Hangover

Now that my Very First Post is out of the way, here's what I wanted to say that made me go through the laborious process (not) of starting a blog. If I'd known it was that easy I'd have started one a long time ago; why didn't anyone tell me? Sheesh. Anyhoo..

I was doing dishes after reading blogs this morning and had this thought but it sounded, not to flatter myself, like someone else. So, since that person is a better writer than I think myself to be, I thought I'd write the thought down!

And then I wondered, do women who blog and read one another's have writing styles that gradually move closer together, like that menstrual-cycle thing where women who live or work together have cycles that gradually happen at the same time each month? Ah, thank you Internet, I found the name for it: "synchronous menstruation." So I guess this would be "synchronous musings."

Which brings its own set of musings, as it would appear that the jury is out on whether that synchronous periods are a real phenomenon or not. With most of the critics being men, and most of the women being all, "Duh."

And now I've quite forgotten my original brilliant thought. Oh, yes. The party. So, I had this kickass party for Duckyboy on Saturday. We had a Groundhog Day party, complete with banners (with groundhogs), games (with groundhogs), and snacks (shaped like or reminiscent of groundhogs and/or their burrows). Everyone who wasn't feverish or contagious was there, toys were strewn everywhere, Duckyboy now likes to say "It's not a party until someone's in their underwear" (me and my big mouth) and, I thought, a good time was had by all.

Until this morning. Now, Monday morning is always a bummer at our house, coming as it does on the heels of 2 days that involve lots of Mommy and very little homework, not so many rules, and little need to sit still and quietly for long periods of time without a TV on. Today's bummer began, as usual, with coaxing the poor kid out of bed at 6:40 am, and proceeded to a stint at the still-partified kitchen table and this:

DB: Mommy? Can I make a groundhog? [One of the crafts I had lovingly handcreated for son and his little friends.] I didn't get a chance to make one at the party.

Me: Expose chest. Insert knife into heart! Dissolve into sobbing mass on floor. Oh, wait, still have to get the kid on the bus in 5 minutes and he's not dressed yet... Of course, sweetie! I didn't realize you didn't make one!

(We'd made a sample together a couple of days beforehand; frankly, at the party, I forgot.)

We made one then and there. Yes, even before I made him get dressed. How could I possibly have put him on the bus without having made a groundhog???

DB: I tried to tell you, but you were too busy helping S. make hers.

He didn't tell me. I'm perceptive like that. He may have also been sitting there and if I was Truly A Good Mother it would have occurred to me that he wanted to make one too. But honestly, I don't even remember him sitting there.

Am therefore spending part of today trying to figure out how to make it up to him when he gets home. Reliving the party, with him as special guest, is ranking high on the list. Without the bagels though, since I've eaten or frozen all the rest. I will make punch -- any excuse to make punch! -- and even have his very own ice ring in the Bundt pan in the freezer.

That was a big hit, let me tell ya --want to intrigue a bunch of 5-year-olds? Float an ice ring, preferably one made from juice that's a different color than your punch, in a gigantic bowl of punch. (Hint: Plastic punch bowl from party store preferable.)

What? Punch-phobic? Pfft. Obviously you didn't grow up Methodist. Punch rules! Can't believe I haven't used my punch bowl since Duckyboy's first birthday party in '03 -- now I don't want to put it away. Again thank you, Internet, for the ideas for this punch:

• 1 container orange juice (No Pulp! "X Pulp! We don't drink no stinkin' pulp," say my son and his sensory-issue-challenged friends. OK, so they don't use those words. Though he might say the "X pulp" part.) If it makes you feel any better, buy the calcium-added version. I felt a tad better about feeding it to my friends' kids that way.
  
• 1 2-liter container of lemon-lime soda. The more store-brand, the better.
• 1 ring of ice --water mixed with purple grape juice makes the orange pulp turn brown as it melts. (Which is good for Groundhog Day, even though I found that out by accident.)

Purple grape juice, you ask? Who buys that stain-producing stuff anymore, don't we all use the white nowadays? Well, yes. Except that Communion hasn't made the switch yet, for that the purple stuff still rules. And since I just stopped doing the setup (long story there), I had half a bottle in my fridge. Which I don't let Duckyboy drink due to the stain factor. Except when he wants some from the little communion cup I saved for him.

Oh, and now in case someone's got something to say about that: My view is, at his age, I'd rather have him have a positive view of The Lord's Supper as something that is for him, as opposed to seeing it as something that he's not allowed to have, which is NOT, trust me, going to have a wistful, dreamy-eyed, "Gee, I hope I can have that someday" effect that it might on someone else's kid. I also let him eat the leftover matzoh. Well, not ALL of it since he'd never have a bm again. Whatever else is left we save to feed to the ducks in Kissena Park. Did you know that ducks like matzoh?

Well, I've written a paragraph that includes both my faith and ducks; I think my work here is done.