Mommy's Car Has an Owee

Kids say the darnedest things. Truth be told, Mommy's car does indeed have a boo-boo on her bumper. However, kids like John with autism (or, more precisely, Asperger's Syndrome) tend to fixate on things and repeat themselves. Here's where the story begins:

About a week ago, John and I were doing some yardwork. By "doing some yardwork" I mean that I was operating a new leaf blower that I got for my birthday, and John was sitting in his Little Tykes car in the garage, covering his ears. Every time I stopped, he announced "All done," as if announcing it made it so. When I would say "Almost", he'd pout and cover his ears again. Many autistic people are hypersensitive (or hyposensitive) in some areas, and Burrito's are touch and sound. He's definitely hypersensitive to sounds, especially higher-pitched noises. Lately, though, he's learned to cover his ears.

In between proclaiming the completion of my leaf-blowing task, he noticed the boo-boo on Mommy's bumper. Mommy's car gets boo-boos from time to time, which are typically the result of Mommy "acquiring stationary targets" in parking lots. He began poking at it, and, in a completely predictable move, he went and got a toy car and began driving it over his new-found bump. After I was "All done," he asked me what was wrong with Mommy's car. I said it had an owee.

Now John gets into Mommy's car and says things like "It's okay, Mommy's car" and tells Mommy that her car has an owee. He also points out that Daddy's Truck is okay. Which it is, in large part because Daddy doesn't seem to have radar-lock on other cars. Being autistic, however, means that John doesn't let go of this. Take 1 part autism, add 2 parts fixation with anything that has wheels and moves, add a bump on the bumper, and it's a recipe for an endless stream of "Mommy's car has an owee" when my wife is driving.

Of course, she thinks I put John up to this. I wish I could say I did, because it's just priceless to hear him say it.

Burrito wants an X-box

I know this because Burrito is always watching me play on the computer. I know, as a responsible parent, that he shouldn't be doing this, and when I observe this behavior I make a point not to shoot at anyone or yell into the microphone. I'm sensitive that way.

He is very interested in my activity, though. He wants to sit in my lap. I think, "This is a Norman Rockwell moment." I'd get a camera, except that if I take my eyes off the screen long enough to find one, I'll get killed. Besides, the room is dark, and the picture would come out badly. Burrito tries to help, typically by frantically banging on the keyboard or by using the mouse, and when I say "use" the mouse I mean that he drives his truck or car or bus over it. Especially the big yellow bus.

He's kind of a bus freak, and it's our fault.

When we learned he would have to go to school, back when he was first diagnosed with autism, we worried about how he'd do on the bus. He didn't like to ride in any vehicle that wasn't "Mommy's car" or "Daddy's truck," and even then, if you put him in the wrong one (the car when he wanted the truck), a pleasant, calm, 30-minute meltdown would ensue. We thought this whole bus idea would be a disaster, so we tried to soften the blow by acquainting him with buses. We began pointing out buses on the road and getting very excited to see them. We bought him a fleet of yellow die-cast buses (all identical, of course) to play with.

Well, when it came time to get on the bus, he did it. He had a few bad days, but in short order riding the bus became the best thing ever. Now, he has probably 10 different bus toys (not all identical! Progress!), and he drives them all over the place in search of bumps. He loves bumps right now. Everything is a bump. He takes things off the counter and puts them on the floor so that be can drive his bus, or other vehicle, over them.

Which brings me back to the X-box. An X-box is somewhat large (as game consoles go), and would sit in front of the TV in the living room. It's rugged, more so than a computer keyboard. It's also less sensitive to being touched or jostled, especially in comparison to a computer mouse. Thus, it is the best of both worlds. I get to play games. Burrito gets a new bump.

Who the heck is Johnny Burrito anyway?

Johnny Burrito is John, my currently 3.5 year old son. He is mildly autistic, which in spite of itself provides a nearly endless source of amusement for my wife and I. Family and friends are often asking us for updates on how he's doing and assorted cute stories about his life, and well, given that my wife and I both work and given that, well, he's autistic, we're often too worn out do some of these stories justice.

If you have or know an autistic child, you'll know that routine and repetition are common themes. My wife and I come from the school of "laughter is the best medicine", and these two themes will undoubtedly be strong in these posts. I'll make lots of fun of them too. Please don't take offense. We suffer all of the heartache that autistic parents do, and are well attuned to the issues at play. We are also working our damnedest to help our son. Trust in that, and laugh along with us.

What about Burrito?
It's a name I gave him Day One, when he was born. They swaddled him up nice and tight, and brought him in. My wife, who had endured 25 hours of labor followed by a c-section, looked hungry, and I said something like, "Hey, look, they brought you a giant burrito." I think that's how it went. In any case, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. The name stuck, and to us he's John Burrito, Johnny Burrito, or just Burrito. Sometimes, when he's acting like a Big Boy, he's Burro. You get the idea.

John's Autism
At around 18 months of agte, John began falling off the development curve in fine motor skills and speech. By age 2, his vocabulary had reduced to about 4 or 5 words, most of which were animal sounds. He knew that a cow went Moo, but not Mommy or Daddy. He never made eye contact, and never seemed to notice when we were there. He played with the same toys over and over and over. He only played with toys that rolled, basically, and he would just watch them roll back and forth, like he was in a trance.

My wife and I threw ourselves full-force into the problem. We took him to developmental pediatricians and psychologists. We took him to Children's Hospital in Washington (we live in northern Virginia) for evaluations. The verdict was that Burrito was autistic. We read and read and cried and read and talked to people and cried some more. We're both smart people, and we were well prepared for having a nerd. This, however, we were not prepared for.

John is in preschool, and day care, and sees a child psychologist, speech therapist, and occupational therapist. He has a team of people who help him. His scores on development tests climb every year, and in the aggregate his development is now on par with other 3.5 year old kids. Of course, its unevenly distributed. He has some abilities that are similar to a 6-year-old (like differentiating colors and shapes), and others that are still behind (like social behaviors). However, he's making steady and rapid progress. John is living proof that early intervention can beat, or at least seriously dent, autism.

Us
This blog will also undoubtedly be filled with stuff about me and my wife, Joyce. We work well together as a team, which you'll see. Of course, my wife's version of "Team" is "He lifts heavy things and acts as a child playmate to John. I am the adult here," to which my response is a definite "Nuh-uh."

So I play the odd video game once in a while. Big deal. It's not like I don't get out of the house. I do. I go out to play golf. And hockey. I even go to work on occasion.