autism Archives - Page 17 of 20 - Running for Autism

There Will Be Hills

April 1, 2011 By Kirsten

My running has been very much on again/off again throughout this winter, and it’s been causing me some degree of stress. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to run, and I have still laced up the running shoes when I’ve been able to. It’s that life has just gotten in the way lately. We have had an interesting run of illnesses in my family over the last several weeks – hopefully the cold that I have had over the last week will represent the last of the winter ailments.

Add to that the fact that it’s been winter, and the weather has been – well, crappy. Toronto had a very cold winter, resulting in thick sheets of solid ice on the sidewalks that I have wanted to avoid. There’s no point in going running when there’s a good chance of breaking a leg. So much of the running I have done has been on the treadmill. Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. The thing is that I can only stomach the treadmill for so long. So I have done very few distance runs lately.

Brecause of this cold, I have not done any runs at all for about a week and a half. Usually I would, since the cold has been only in my head and hasn’t affected my breathing or anything below the neck. But I have erred on the side of caution because I have a race coming up tomorrow. I would rather rest and increase my chances of being well enough to participate.

And the strategy seems to have worked. Apart from a few residual sniffles, my cold is gone, and I will be able to run the race tomorrow. I’m not expecting it to be a stellar performance. It’s 8km, which I always find to be an awkward distance. It’s just too long for me to just go hell-for-leather from start to finish, but it’s too short to justify the pacing strategies that I use for longer distances. In addition, there will be hills. Lots of hills.

But still, this is a significant race. It marks the start of my 2011 racing season, and it will kick off my training for the Toronto Women’s half-marathon at the end of May. The Toronto Women’s half-marathon is a stepping stone to my main event of the year, the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront half-marathon in October – my annual Run for Autism.

And that, as we all know, is the reason I run. It is my way of doing something for the autism community.

What better day to kick it all off than tomorrow: World Autism Awareness Day.

The karma of that brings a glow to my heart.

There will be hills. Every single one of them will be worth it.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bazylek/5096924747)

There Will Be Hills

April 1, 2011 By Kirsten

And that, as we all know, is the reason I run. It is my way of doing something for the autism community.

What better day to kick it all off than tomorrow: World Autism Awareness Day.

The karma of that brings a glow to my heart.

There will be hills. Every single one of them will be worth it.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bazylek/5096924747)

Filed Under: autism, running, Running for Autism Tagged With: autism, half-marathon, hills, illness, postaday2011, race, running, treadmill, winter, world autism awareness day

Garage Door Racing

March 28, 2011 By Kirsten

From a very tender age, George has been fascinated with garage doors. Garages themselves hold little interest for him, but the doors are an endless source of interest and entertainment. Right in the beginning, when he was barely old enough to walk, he would insist on being able to watch the garage doors open and close. Understanding this, of course, was a challenge for us, since George had no functional language to speak of at that time, and could not communicate his desires. We had many, many meltdowns borne of the fact that our boy had this thing he wanted and could not ask for. We accidentally discovered the issue when someone happened to close the garage in the middle of a meltdown. As soon as the door started to move, George instantly calmed down.

George is not fond of garages that are left open. They are pointless to him. An open garage does not have a visible door for him to examine in its minutest detail, and even now, when we are at large in our neighbourhood, we have to watch George to make sure he does not take off in the direction of any open garage he happens to see. If he gets into an open garage, he starts hunting around for the mechanism with which to close it, and this can create an awkward situation for the homeowner whose garage is thus targeted.

In the last couple of years, George has been able to satisfy his garage door obsession by watching YouTube videos featuring – you guessed it – garage doors. You would be amazed at how many videos there are dedicated to this subject. Many of them are demonstrations of garage door opening systems presented by salesmen or manufacturers. That’s good enough for George: he watches the videos over and over, and gives the appearance of actually absorbing the words that are spoken by the presenters. It wouldn’t surprise me: George’s speech is not up to much, but his receptive language is actually quite good.

About six months ago the knowledge came to me that there is such a thing as Garage Door Racing. My son found it on YouTube. To participate in this unlikely activity, all you need is a double garage, and two people, each one with a garage door controller. You start with both doors open, and when the signal is given, each person presses the button on their controller. The person whose door is completely closed first, wins the race.

I know, I know.

But clearly someone enjoys it.

About two weeks ago we started a new phase of the whole garage door thing. George found a YouTube video featuring a guy cutting into a garage door with a jigsaw. He immediately went off and gathered several long pieces of Lego. He stacked them together in a tower that I later realized was a fairly realistic emulation of a garage door. Then he found a toy jigsaw that someone had given to one of the boys. Armed with the Lego and the jigsaw, he returned to the computer and played the video again. Except this time, he copied the video by “cutting” his version of a garage door with his toy jigsaw.

Since then, he has spent many happy moments pretending to cut his door, both with and without the computer. I am encouraged by the pretend play, even if the pretending is of a somewhat unconventional nature. Gerard is encouraged because his son is showing an interest in power tools.

Today we ran into a bit of a problem. Because I have a cold and took a sick day, I was home when George’s school bus dropped him off this afternoon. He came inside, and without even taking his coat off, he ran into the living room, retrieved his toy jigsaw, and then ran back to the front door and tried to go outside. It turned out that he wanted to use his toy jigsaw on the actual garage door.

Great. That’s all we need. Already I am picturing a day when I come home to find our garage door chopped up into pieces.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dumbledad/3398173944)

Filed Under: autism, Garage Doors Tagged With: autism, garage door racing, garage doors, George, jigsaw, postaday2011, pretend play

Spectrum Musings

March 10, 2011 By Kirsten

Sometimes I wonder if George got his autism from me.

I don’t say that with any sense of guilt. If he did get it from me, I don’t feel bad about it. After all, I can hardly be held responsible for my genetic composition. It’s not as if I had any control over what DNA I landed up with.

I wonder about this question, though, from a purely scientific, curious point of view. Because although I’ve never been screened for it, it would not surprise me one bit if I were to learn that I am on the autism spectrum.

When I was a baby, I cried. I know, that sounds like a ridiculous statement. Of course I cried. That’s what babies do. In my case, however, I couldn’t be soothed. My poor Mom would change me, feed me, rock me, try to get me to sleep. No matter what she did, I cried relentlessly, for hours at a time, for no apparent medical reason. Mom surmised that maybe I was reacting to a feeling of rejection after my birth mother had given me up for adoption.

Adoptions in those days were closed, and no information was exchanged between the birth mother and the adoptive parents. My Mom knew nothing about where I had come from. She told me in later years that she just assumed there was some factor she did not know about that was causing all this angst in me.

When I was a very young child, it became apparent that I had notable developmental delays. I was a very late talker, and did not show signs of functional speech until the age of five. It took me a lot longer than my peers to learn how to read (although it must be said, once I did learn, it was like a floodgate had opened, and I read everything I could get my hands on).

At the same time, I had issues with motor skills. I was uncoordinated, and stubbed my toes a lot. I did not have the strength to hold a pen, and I didn’t even know, until some species of therapist did some testing on me, that I was left-handed. My hand-eye coordinatin was nowhere and I had to be taught it while other kids seemed to just pick up on it naturally.

There are certain sensory things that I find hard to handle. Flickering lights (although, to be fair, that would probably drive most people batty). The textures of certain foods. Clothing labels have the ability to make me want to chew off my own arm in frustration. When Gerard has the TV on too loud, I actually want to scream. Hearing too many sounds from too many different sources (TV, dishwasher, telephone, whatever) invokes a feeling of intense anxiety.

When I’m stressed I rock back and forth. I find it calming, I find that it can sometimes stop the stressful feeling from escalating.

One of the most telling factors in my musings, however, is my social awkwardness. I have had this problem throughout my life. As I get more comfortable with specific people, my social ineptness becomes less apparent, and I work hard to ~~hide~~ overcome it in my day-to-day life.

Social gatherings can be excruciating for me. High school was just torture – I so badly wanted to fit in, but I couldn’t be social enough and my attempts came across as awkward and embarrassing. The only person at school who I felt completely comfortable with was my friend Jenny, who remains my best friend to this day.

There are certain social situations that make me feel even more uncomfortable: conflict, meeting new people, situations where I unexpectedly have to make small talk, anything to do with telephones.

Gerard has remarked several times that I seem to have a special connection with George. When he is having a meltdown, I seem to have the ability to just know what to do, to know what he needs. It can take a long time to calm him down, but in most cases, I can just know – without explaining how I know – how he needs to be spoken to, held, comforted, soothed.

And I wonder why this is.

Is it a normal motherly instinct?

Or do I, in some ways, inhabit the same world George does?

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/53416677@N08/4972850923)

Filed Under: autism, Genetics Tagged With: adoption, autism, communication, developmental delays, disability, DNA, genetics, George, light, meltdown, motor skills, postaday2011, rocking, sensory issues, sound, spectrum, speech, texture

Hat Boy

February 22, 2011 By Kirsten

Me and my Hat Boy

George has a thing about hats. He wears them all the time, even when he goes to bed. We have succeeded in getting him to take it off at bathtime, and both the school and the therapy centre have him remove it for his periods of instruction. But when he is at home, the hat is always on his head.

It’s not just any old hat, either. George is very picky about his hats – he will only wear his hat, and if his hat is not available, things in my household get very noisy and fraught as we struggle to keep him from banging his head in frustration. From time to time we have to switch out the old hat for a new one, because – well, you know – George is seven, and seven-year-olds have this habit of growing really fast.

The “new hat days” are traumatic for the entire family, so we tend to hold on to the current hat until the seams start to pop.

However, with age comes wisdom, and we have learned that whenever it’s time for a new hat, we have to get two that are the same. That way, when one starts smelling a bit ripe, we can throw it into the washing machine and let George wear the other one.

We suspect that George wears the hat to gain that slight feeling of pressure around his head. Kids with autism are frequently big on physical pressure, and George definitely falls into that category. He climbs onto the back of the couch and jumps from there onto the floor, because he craves the deep pressure input to his feet and legs. It would make sense for him to want pressure around his head as well.

In addition, though, I think George wears the hat in order to protect his head from being touched. He really, really, REALLY does not like people touching his head. He allows me to remove his hat and stroke his head, or run my fingers through his hair, but after just a few seconds he gets antsy and squirms away.

This is a problem.

For a start, there’s the practical problem of hair-washing. I don’t wash George’s hair as often as I should, because it is just so stressful for him. Hair-washing is a joint effort between me and Gerard, and it has to be planned with military precision, right down to getting my mother-in-law to whisk James away for the duration. Basically, what happens is that I wait until George isn’t watching, and then I fill a plastic basin with water and lay a shower curtain on the kitchen floor. Then Gerard uses his arms and legs to immobilize a screaming George, and I wash his hair as quickly as humanly possible.

It sounds barbaric, and I always feel so bad that I end up in floods of tears, but it is the only way we can wash his hair.

When people hear of the difficulties, they say to me, “Just keep his hair short”. If only it were that simple. This kid won’t let us wash his hair normally – why would anyone assume that he will let us anywhere near him with a pair of scissors or any other haircutting device?

Cutting his hair is as traumatic as washing it. So what I have to do is creep around my own house in the dark like a burglar, gingerly remove George’ s hat from his head, and then tentatively cut whatever bits of it that I can reach while he is sleeping. Sometimes it takes up to two weeks to complete a haircut because George tends to lie down the same way every night.

We may be making progress, though, thanks to the wonderful folks at the therapy centre that George spends four mornings a week at.

The therapists had me complete a sensitivity questionaire, describing the issues with washing and cutting his hair, and two weeks ago they started a desensitization program. This morning George’s therapy supervisor called me to give me an update.

“We combed his hair,” she said.

“What, ALL of it?” I asked, incredulously. Usually my hair-combing attempts have to be aborted, so each day I start on a different side of his head, just to ensure full coverage every two days.

“All of it,” said the supervisor. She went on to tell me that she had put ear-muffs on George, and that this seemed to help with the sensitivity around his ears.

“He kept on ear-muffs?” I asked. Not sounding very intelligent at this point. Think Village Idiot.

“AND,” continued the supervisor, “We have sprayed his entire head with leave-in conditioner.”

Holy bat, Crapman! Who is this short person and what has he done with my son?

So, it would appear that the desensitization program is working like a charm. It will still be a long time before we can actually wash his hair normally, or cut it while he is awake, but with baby-steps, we will get there.

The staff at the therapy centre are absolutely incredible. Thanks to them, George will be ready for discharge into full-time school (with special ed support) by September.

He might be ready.

Me, not so much.

Filed Under: autism, Hair, Sensory Issues Tagged With: autism, George, hair, hair-washing, haircutting, hat, head, postaday2011, sensory issues, special needs, therapy

We Survived The Gastro Bug Of 2011

February 13, 2011 By Kirsten

It has been quite a week, one in which both kids made it to the Emergency Room at our local hospital. James’ visit resulted in an overnight stay, which left me feeling exhausted and sick myself. With George, we were luckier. His condition, while similar to James’, was less severe and did not call for any needles or IV lines. We were seen by a really nice doctor, and then sent home with strict instructions on how to orally administer fluids.

Most parents of boys aged 5 and 7 have seen the inside of an E.R. at least once. With this latest visit, James has now clocked up four visits (3 months: hair wrapped around toe so tightly that said toe was turning purple; 2 years: hand placed on rapidly moving treadmill belt resulting in the loss of several layers of skin; 3 years: arm pulled out of joint at elbow by big brother; 5 years: severe dehydration).

George has been somewhat luckier in this regard, having only needed to visit the E.R. on two occasions. This is a good thing – I cannot describe how good. James takes stuff like this in his stride. Sure, he cried when the IV line was put in place on Wednesday night, and he cried when I explained to him that we would be in the hospital overnight instead of going home, but when these things happen, he understands that the doctors are there to make him better. George has a much harder time. His autism makes him resistant to changes in routine, new places, unfamiliar people, and strange smells.

Doctors’ offices are bad enough. Hospital E.R.’s have the ability to send him right over the top. It is a good thing that George has managed to stay healthy and relatively injury-free.

The first E.R. visit, the day after George’s 4th birthday, was prompted by an accident in the daycare he attended at the time. He had been stimming, spinning round and round in circles. The daycare staff were attempting to move George to the centre of the room where he could safely stim without hurting himself, but he lost his balance and fell, hitting his upper lip on the corner of a bookshelf.

The E.R. we took him to was very understanding. We registered him and completed all of the requisite paperwork, and then wondered out loud how we would cope with what was likely to be a long wait. The admitting nurse, realizing that George’s autism would make a hospital wait unbearable for him, told us to go to the donut shop across the street with him. When it was his turn, and when the examination room was all set up, someone would come and get us.

The nurse was true to her word. A hospital orderly came and got us after about twenty minutes, and we were taken straight into the examination room, where the doctor, a nurse, and two other orderlies were waiting. Before George had any clue what was happening, he was placed on the bed, and the orderlies expertly wrapped him up in a sheet like a burrito, so only his face was exposed. The nurse immediately swabbed his face, and the doctor, who was waiting with an already-prepared suture, gave George the single stitch that he needed.

We were in and out of there in less than three minutes. Kudos to all staff at that E.R.

This time round, George had to stick around for a longer time. His utter lethargy, while certainly a concern from a health perspective, definitely helped the E.R. visit go more smoothly than it otherwise might have. He endured the admission tests, with the exception of the temperature check. He was having none of that thermometer business, either at the front desk or in the examination room.

He allowed the nurse to put a tamper-proof hospital band around his wrist. In the examination room, he tampered with it and got it off (people who make tamper-proof products should really test-drive them on out-of-the-box-thinking auties). I was very concerned about the prospect of an IV line. The kid wouldn’t even keep on a wrist-band. How were we going to prevent him from ripping out the IV line?

Imagine our relief when we were told that IV fluids would not be needed. We were told how to administer fluids, how frequently, and in what amounts. We all got to come home.

*Phew*

A day later, we are all officially on the mend. Well, except for James, who is completely recovered. George has just eaten a jam sandwich – his first real food in three days. I’m no longer feeling nauseous (I still think that was due more to pure exhaustion than anything else). Gerard is a bit more lively than he was yesterday.

And now, hopefully, we return to a “normal” life in the special needs family.

Filed Under: autism, hospital, Illness Tagged With: autism, Emergency Room, gastro, George, hospital, illness, injury, IV, James, postaday2011, recovery, understanding

Racing For Autism

February 7, 2011 By Kirsten

I have all kind of things pinned up on the walls of my workstation. There is the requisite work-related stuff (contact sheets, cost centre codes, month-end dates, cheat sheets on how to use the corporate phone system, and so on). Then, because I am a parent, I have artwork by my kids proudly on display (three masterpieces by each child). I have a card that my coworkers gave me along with a cake to celebrate the dual occasion of my citizenship and my engagement (to clarify: I have the card. The cake is long gone). There is my Cake Wrecks calendar, which is so funny that the tears of mirth streaming down my face make my mascara run (this week’s page has pictures of Valentines cakes with icing messages on them reading, “Sorry for stealing your boyfriend”, “Nobody loves you”, and “I didn’t like you that much anyway”).

Then there is my collection of race numbers. It’s a bit like a brag wall, really, but it’s one that I feel justified in showing off. It feels great to stagger in to the office on the Monday after a race, and pin up a new number. Looking at that number, along with whatever race time was associated with it, somehow makes all of the aches worthwhile. That and the fact that running is just awesome.

My first race after my comeback to running was on September 27th, 2009 – just over sixteen months ago. In those sixteen months, I have run a total of nine races, which collectively covered a distance of 130.3 kilometres or almost 81 miles. This year I will be adding at least another 91 kilometres (56 miles), and quite possibly more.

The truth of the matter is that there is only one race every year that really matters to me. It is the race that got me back into running in the first place, and it the focal point of my racing calendar. Every step I take in training, every other race that I run, leads up to this one. Without this race, I don’t think I would be doing this at all.

It is, of course, my annual Run for Autism, the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon, Half-Marathon and 5K.

For several years during my long layoff from running, I tried to get back into it, but there was always a reason for me not to run. When I got that first email from the Geneva Centre for Autism inviting me to sign up for a race to raise funds for autism, I realized that all that had been missing was the right reason to run.

Initially I was going to sign up for the 5K race, knowing that it would be well within reach, but then I thought, “Screw that. Since when do I only do things that I know are within my reach?” I looked at the calendar, did some math, and worked out that in six months, I could just about train for a half-marathon from scratch.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Now I am looking forward to my third annual Run for Autism. I have a lot going on before then – at least four races including the Toronto Women’s Half-Marathon (Shirtless firefighters at the water stations! Free chocolate!). But really, the Autism Run is what it’s all about.

When the going gets tough, all I have to do is remind myself of why I am doing this. Because of a genetic roll of the dice (as I believe) I have a child with autism. Without help along the way, my beautiful boy would be at risk of getting lost in the system, of growing up without any opportunities. Instead, thanks to places like the Geneva Centre, the world is within his grasp. He has a lifetime of challenges, and his life will never be quite the same as most people’s – but along with the challenges comes opportunity.

My Autism Runs are all about raising funds for those services, to ultimately help make the world a better place for George and for other people like him.

Because really, look at him. Is this not a face totally worth running for?

Filed Under: autism, running Tagged With: autism, autism services, geneva centre, George, half-marathon, postaday2011, potential, race, running, scotiabank toronto waterfront marathon, training

I Am Autism

February 5, 2011 By Kirsten

I’m having a bit of trouble writing today. The why’s are not important – suffice it to say that my mind is very unsettled. It cannot land on a single thought and stay there. It’s more like a butterfly, flitting around from here to there, alighting on one thing and staying there for but a moment before it takes off and flies somewhere else. They are elusive today, my thoughts are. Butterflies can, at times, seem lazy. They can seem almost laid-back, drifting and wafting rather than actually flying. But appearances are deceiving: despite the oft-times calming nature of their flight, butterflies can be very hard to catch.

I cannot catch my thoughts today.

So instead of actually trying to write something coherent myself, I want to share something that was emailed to me. It is quite profound, and obviously, it strikes quite a chord in me.

I Am Autism
By Marty Murphy

Hello. Allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is autism. Perhaps you know
me or know of me. I am a condition, “disorder” that affects many people. I
strike at will, when and where I want. Unlike Downs Syndrome or other birth
“defects,” I leave no marks on those I strike. In fact, I pride myself on the
ability to infiltrate a child’s life, while leaving him or her strikingly
handsome. Many people may not even know I am there. They blame the child for
what I cause him or her to do. I am autism and I do as I please.

I am autism. I strike boys and girls. infants and toddlers. I find my best
victims to be boys around the age of 2, but any child will do. I like children
and they are always the true victims, though I take hostage the others in the
child’s family as well. It is a bit like getting two for the price of one. I
affect one child and “infect” the entire family.

I am autism. I strike rich and poor alike. The rich combat me with education and
therapy. The poor shut their children away and cannot afford to fight me. I am
able to win in the lives of poor children more than I am those of the wealthy,
but I will try to take root anywhere.

I am autism. I am an equal opportunity disorder. I strike whites, blacks,
Mexicans, Ukrainians, Russians, Poles, Slavs, Japanese, Koreans and Fins. In
fact, I strike everywhere on Earth. I know no geographical bounds.

I am autism. I do not discriminate based upon religion either. I strike Jews and
Christians, Muslims and Buddhists, Atheists and Agnostics. I do not care what
religion a person is or what beliefs he may hold. When I strike, there will be
little time for any of that anyway. When they find me, they will question
everything they believe in, so why would I strike only one group? I have
affected followers of every religion on the planet.

I am autism and I am strong and getting stronger every year, every month, every
day, every minute and every second. I am concerned that money might be allotted
to combat me and my takeover of children, but so far, I have little to fear.
Some countries like Kuwait, are spending quite a bit of money to assist those
who I have targeted and some, like the United States, would rather spend money
on such ludicrous things as discovering the number of American Indians who
practice Voodoo, as opposed to combating me. In an atmosphere such as that, I
can flourish and wreck havoc at will. In places such as that, I rub my hands
with glee at the problems I can cause to children, their families and to the
society at large.

I am autism. When I come, I come to stay. I take the dreams and hopes of
families and trample them with delight. I see the fear and confusion in the eyes
of my victims and see the formation of wrinkles, the worries and pain on the
face of their parents. I see the embarrassment their child causes because of me
and the parents unsuccessful attempt to hide their child, and me. I see tears
the parents cry and feel the tears of their child. I am autism. I leave sorrow
in my wake.

I am autism. I taketh away and give nothing but bewilderment and loathing in
return. I take speech and learning. I take socialization and understanding. I
take away “common sense” and, if I am allowed to flourish, I take away all but
their physical life. What I leave behind, is almost worse than death.

I am autism. I fear nothing except courage, which I thankfully see little of. I
fear those who take a stand against me and attempt to fight me and bring others
into the fight as well. I fear those who try to make it safe and easier for my
victims in the community, and their families. I fear those who push ahead,
despite the fact that I am in tow. I fear the day I will be eradicated from the
planet. Yet, I do not fear too much right now. There is no need.

I am autism and I bet you know me or know of me. If you don’t, you probably will
soon. I am marching forward faster than I ever have before. I am looking for new
children all the time. I am looking for new children to consume and new lives to
destroy. I dread the day I will be looked upon with pity or worse yet,
understanding, for that day, is the day I will begin to die.

But in the mean time I am safe, free to prowl onward. Free to cause the pain and
suffering that I do so well. I am on a mission and have much work to do and
thankfully no one is stopping me yet.

Hello. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is autism. Perhaps you know me or
know of me, if not don’t worry, you will meet me soon.

Filed Under: autism Tagged With: autism, butterflies, elusive, hard to catch, postaday2011, thoughts, unsettled

Trains Of Autism Thought

February 2, 2011 By Kirsten

Yesterday was a momentous day because George played with a train set.

Most parents would read this and wonder what the big deal is. George, after all, is a seven-year-old boy, and isn’t playing with trains a fairly typical activity for a seven-year-old boy? Well yes, except that George, as we all know, is far from typical. Because his autism makes his mind work in very different ways, he does not play with toys in the same way that other kids do. He never has: from the time he was a very tiny baby George didn’t do all of the stuff with toys that all of the books said he would.

On a side note: this is one of the reasons I know that George’s autism has absolutely nothing to do with vaccines. It might be a factor for some other kids, I’m not saying it’s not – but it isn’t for George.

Anyway, back to the toys. I remember having a slight feeling in the pit of my stomach, when George was a baby, that something was not quite right. I just knew. When he was at the age where other babies track toys with their eyes, George would stare off into the distance. When he was supposed to be batting at dangling toys with his tiny hands, he would ignore them. Unless they were shiny – then he would just stare at them. He never took an interest in teddy bears; quote-unquote “age appropriate” toys never appealed to him.

I remember once surrounding George with toys just to see if he would react to anything, to find out if something, anything, would spark an interest. For a long time, he just sat there, not even acknowledging the toys. Eventually, he reached out for the train so he could push the button to see the lights.

George in a sea of toys

The train! The train!

When George did start taking an interest in toys, it was not to play with them in any conventional sense. It was to line them up or to examine bits of them. He showed a definite preference for Lego – the straight, symmetrical lines of the pieces appealed to him. He could make perfectly straight lines with them.

Another favourite was a play table that we had picked up at a garage sale. There were all kinds of things on this table: big buttons that you could push, large beads that you pushed back and forth, little sliding window things that you would move from one side to another to reveal little pictures. At one point in its life, this table had had a toy telephone attached to it (rotary dial – just shows how old this thing must have been). By the time we got the table, the telephone was gone, but the piece of string that had attached it remained. George showed no interest whatsoever in the buttons and beads and pictures. However, he would spend hours examining that piece of string.

I think the first toy that George played with in the manner intended by the manufacturers was Mr. Potato Head. He was introduced to Mr. Potato Head by his speech therapist, and it was love at first sight. It was a wonderful tool for developing some basic speech, and it certainly didn’t hurt his play skills either. Soon we had a large collection of Mr. Potato Heads, and to this day this is a firm favourite with George. He has been using Mr. Potato Head pieces in increasingly creative ways.

Mr. Pineapple Head!

Yesterday, George played with a train set. By “play” I don’t mean that he lined up the tracks without putting them together, that he made one dead-straight line of trains for each colour, or that he lay on his back minutely examining the lettering on the trains. I mean that he actually assembled the tracks (making a pretty nifty figure-of-eight to boot!), and then pushed trains back and forth on the tracks. He was absorbed in his play for some time, and on a couple of occasions he even made choo-choo noises.

For any outsider looking in, he would have looked like any seven-year-old boy playing with his trains.

But he’s not just any seven-year-old boy. He’s my George and I am so, so lucky to have him.

Filed Under: autism, Play, postaday2011 Tagged With: age-appropriate toys, autism, Lego, lining things up, Mr. Potato Head, play, play table, postaday2011, shiny objects, string, train tracks, trains

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