The Upside of Puberty
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IMG_0053This fall, my daughter and I are entering new territory. After a year or so of nonstop growth, Katie is 5’1″ (or was in August when I last measured her. By now, she’s probably even taller.) She has outgrown girl’s sizes, but swims in most women’s clothes.

Last month, we ventured into the junior section for the first time. I couldn’t help but notice the sexualized nature of the clothes: skin-tight tees, Daisy Duke shorts, cleavage-baring shirts, “skater” skirts and dresses that would barely cover Katie’s private zones.

I was appalled. And that was before I saw the padded, push-up bras with matching thongs!

I know there are probably high school girls who wear junior sizes. But still, what if you don’t want to dress like a harlot? What then?

And what, pray tell, are middle school girls supposed to wear? Because clearly the jump from girl’s sizes to junior’s is ridiculous. These girls are eleven to thirteen years old. They don’t have any cleavage to bare (and if they do, what parent wants it put on display?). Who designs these clothes? Do they have young daughters? Based on the majority of things available in the junior department, I would have to say no.

Fortunately for me, Katie did not appear to disagree. As we walked past rack after rack of clothes, she continued to exclaim, “No, thank you!”

No, thank you, indeed. Particularly to the thongs.

As we combed through the department, I started to worry. How in the hell was I going to dress my barely verbal preteen? Other than the shorts and tanks she had worn all summer plus a few pair of size 16 jeans (with the still necessary adjustable waist that I could cinch in), everything was far too small. But I wasn’t going to put her in any of these clothes to send her to school.

Then we found The Shirt.

2513492_Coral_PlaidKatie has never been willing to wear a traditional button-up shirt. She would happily wear almost anything else, so I never fought it. But here was a rack of plaid shirts that caught her eye.

“Pick one,” I said. “And we’ll try it on.”

Katie stood there for a long time, considering. Then she pulled out a coral pink plaid shirt. “This one.”

I found what I guessed was the correct size. Katie selected a matching coral cami, and we headed to the dressing room.

She tried it on and studied herself in the mirror. She turned right and then left. She looked so grown up standing in that cramped dressing room, it took my breath away. “You look pretty in that shirt, Katie.”

She turned toward me with a look that needed no words.

“Really pretty.”

Her grin lit up the room.

“That color looks amazing on you. You want to buy it?”

“Yes, please.”

We eventually found some other clothes on clearance racks including custom tie dye shirts. A navy skort and capris in Petites. A few tees and a tunic in Misses. A pair of XS leggings. A denim shirt and knit dress at Target. We even found some comfortable (and non-push-up) bras.

It will take more time and effort to dress my daughter now, but I’m confident we can find cute clothes that will fit and are age-appropriate. Plus, the look on her face as she tries on these more “grown-up” clothes? Priceless. Truly priceless.

For us at least, this is the upside of puberty.

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What has puberty taught you? Leave a comment below.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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The Waiting Is (Almost) Over
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Patton_Cynthia_COVLast Friday turned out to be a RED LETTER DAY in my crazy, unplanned life.

First, my poetry collection, Across An Aqueous Moon: Travels in Autism, was finalized and sent to the printer. It should be ready to ship in a few weeks. (And yes, that means YOU, all my wonderful pre-sale order people.)

It’s been almost a year since its acceptance by Finishing Line Press, but my first book is ready to be born. That alone would have been grounds to celebrate.

But on top of that, I finally heard back from Open Mind School (OMS). After ten long, anxiety-filled days, I received the answer I’d been waiting for. An answer that I hope will make a tremendous difference in the life of my daughter, Katie.

250228_465261366867616_1625140658_nFor those of you who don’t remember, OMS is the only full-inclusion school in California and the only school that uses the rapid prompting method (RPM) to help autistic children access an age-appropriate education. We have used RPM with my daughter Katie since the beginning of July and it has made a tremendous difference in her ability to communicate what she knows and understands.

“It was wonderful having Katie onsite at OMS [last week],” the director wrote. “She seemed very comfortable in the setting, and we felt positive about the support we have in place.” The director went on, but suffice it to say, Katie rocked her visit/assessment!

It turns out all my hoping, praying, and waiting for a better placement for my daughter finally paid off. Open Mind School is willing to accept Katie as soon as her hand-picked support professional is hired and in place. So Katie will start part-time in roughly four weeks.

back-to-schoolI am over the moon and filled with relief. This has been a long, arduous process but I believe I have finally found a placement that can truly meet Katie’s unique needs. Hopefully here she can make up some of the academic ground she lost in the past. Hopefully here she will feel safe and accepted. Hopefully here she will thrive.

Wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

Of course, there is still a great deal of work to be done. I need to set up an interim program, which is fortunately already underway. I must negotiate a new contract with my district, and work out logistics with OMS. Because this is a part-time placement (at least for now), I need to figure out what services will be provided at school and what I must provide at home.

Plus we need to arrange transportation, and I have to brainstorm ideas for keeping Katie occupied during the long commute. Mom suggested an iPod, which is brilliant and age-appropriate. Plus it will keep Katie from incessantly asking the driver for “different.” Meaning music. Nate taught Katie how to use Pandora, and Katie now thinks all music players provide an unlimited number of skips until you land upon the perfect song. She has been driving us both crazy at home and in the car, requesting a switch in music every minute or two. So an iPod will save our sanity as well the driver’s. This of course means I have to load the iPod with music….

But for now, I plan to bask in the success of my efforts, grateful beyond words.

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What are you grateful for this week? Leave a comment below.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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A Trip to the Park
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dog-leashI wrote awhile back about the downside of Facebook, and how sometimes—not always, just sometimes—I get sad when I think of all the things I probably will never be able to post about. Then my unplanned life zigs when I thought it would zag. I stumble across rapid prompting method, for example, and I have to rethink all of my assumptions. Which is why, for the most part, I try to stay in the present and not worry about the future.

The future, I have found, seems to have a mind of its own.

But sometimes I don’t even need to look at Facebook. Sometimes all I have to do is walk the dog.

Let me explain.

Last week I took my daughter, Katie, to a nearby park. It’s a relatively small space, with a playground, two bocce courts, a modest lawn, and a tiny picnic area. While Katie swung, I walked Delta around the park’s perimeter, on a path that is much loved (and used) by local dogs. In the picnic area was a large group of twenty and third-something parents, each with one or two young children. I’ve seen this group before. Frankly, it’s hard to miss them. The toddlers swarmed the surrounding area; their younger siblings were confined to front carriers (often worn by dad), or if asleep, high-tech strollers.

Delta, my current dog. She's the craziest Husky I've ever owned. She's also the reason pet microchips were invented.

Delta, my current dog. She’s the craziest Husky I’ve ever owned. She’s also the reason pet microchips were invented.

I circled the park again and again with Delta, each time walking past the happy-hour parents. It was clear they were all comfortably upper middle class. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least half of them worked in Silicon Valley. Yet here they were at 6:00 p.m., drinking beer and chatting while handing out organic fruit snacks and soothing cranky infants.

There were no single parents in the mix. no gray hair. No adoptive children with incarcerated birthmothers. It almost goes without saying that no kids on the spectrum marred the relentlessly upbeat scene. There was much discussion of the second pregnancy that had just concluded or was currently underway. Much running after toddlers who had wandered a bit too far.

Katie and I were totally ignored.

I didn’t mind being ignored. What bothered me was that I had never participated in a co-ed parents’ group. Not even a mother’s group. Not once. I couldn’t decide if this bothered me or not.

I mean, even if I had been invited to such a group, I wouldn’t have fit in. I was too old, too gray. I didn’t have funny birth stories to share. My child was adopted and autistic. She couldn’t run around and play while I chatted with adults. She couldn’t even talk.

The list of differences goes on and on.

I have a love-hate relationship with the list.

Part of me—most of me, in fact—doesn’t care that my child and I don’t fit in. But part of me does. And every so often, that little part wants to stomp its feet and rant.

It was ranting that night in the park. Ranting and sulking.

I don’t know what to do when that part of me rants and sulks—except to let it. So I felt sorry for myself, and for my oblivious child who was laughing and having a great time showing off for the little ones by doing figure eights on the swing. (Trust me, it’s possible.)

It took me forty-plus years, but I’ve finally learned that with all “negative” emotions, it’s best to feel the feelings and then let them quietly slip out the door. It’s the only way I know to get rid of them, to keep them from festering in a cesspool of negativity. Who wants that? Acceptance and gratitude feel so much better.

I don’t how this works. I only know that it does. So I kept walking … and feeling … until the moment passed.

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Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Final Galleys Are Here!
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The final galleys for Across An Aqueous Moon: Travels in Autism have arrived!!

For those of you that don’t know, galleys are the publisher’s layout of a forthcoming book. It’s kind of like the publishing version of a draft.

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About six weeks ago I reviewed the first set of galleys for typos, errors, and any missing stuff. Then the  Finishing Line Press editors made the necessary changes, and now we are doing another (final) round of review. So far I have only found one minor typo on the back cover–which I did not review last time. Still, I am being extra careful.

This is both an exciting and terrifying time for me. Across An Aqueous Moon goes to print in about a week!

Next week I will be done with my obsessive re-reading of the book and will return with a new installment of An Unplanned Life. Thank you for your ongoing love and support.

Until then,
Cynthia

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Waiting
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feet-349687_1920We are in limbo. Everything is on hold as we wait to see what happens with my daughter’s placement. School started in our district on Monday, August 22nd, and the following week, on August 29th, at Open Mind School (OMS). As I mentioned in previous posts, OMS is the full-inclusion private school that teaches children on the spectrum age-appropriate material using the Rapid Prompting Method (RPM) and lots of technology. Almost three weeks after Katie should have started school (or two, depending on which start date you use), I’m still holding my breath, hoping a placement at OMS will materialize.

My school district, of course, has continued to push the Oakland school I rejected in February, arguing that it has space and can take Katie immediately. But OMS has space too. Or at least, it could make space if Katie was a fit with their program.

We have a visit to OMS scheduled for next week. I’m nervous and edgy, not sure how the visit/assessment will go. Katie is anxious too. Her internal clock tells her it’s time to return to school, but where? Katie hasn’t attended a traditional school since last January. I assured her she would never go back to Christensen Middle School—the place where her sensory overload and anxiety grew to catastrophic proportions—but wasn’t sure what to else to tell her.

The Special Education Director said she didn’t want Katie to lose the gains made this summer. I found her concern ironic given our history, but kept my mouth shut. The truth was, I worried about that too. After seven years with no academic progress to speak of, Katie had finally jumped ahead, and I didn’t want to lose that momentum.

garden-1176406_1920The solution came to me as I pulled weeds in my front yard. I sent a few texts to the awesome summer school aides in hopes of setting up an interim program while we wait. Nothing fancy. Just two or three hours every morning like we did this summer. I’ll worry about getting the district to reimburse me later. Plus we still have speech therapy to make up from last year. And of course, RPM. The manual suggests that we do a little every day. We didn’t this summer, but from now on I want to make that a daily practice. I also hope to bring Barb back for reading tutoring if she’s available.

In other words, I can keep Katie busy while we work through the process of getting her into OMS. We should not lose any momentum.

Assuming she gets in. But what if she doesn’t? What then?

Part of me knows home schooling is an option I should seriously consider. Yet I also feel, as a single parent, that it’s a bad option for Katie and me. We need time apart. Plus I need to work and earn money—something that has been in short supply this year as I’ve struggled with the school situation.

product_tn32_A_Z_StencilI also know my limitations. I am many things, but a special needs teacher I am not. Our RPM sessions are making this abundantly clear. Yet we continue to plug away because after nearly a decade of failed efforts by three different schools districts, RPM is the only thing I’ve seen that allows Katie to easily demonstrate what she knows and comprehends.

It’s the “miracle” I’ve been searching for ever since Katie was diagnosed.

So this week I’m cobbling together a make-shift school program and crossing my fingers that everything works out. Experience has taught me that it will. Just not in the ways I expect.

As always, let me know your thoughts in the comment section below.

Until next time,
Cynthia

 

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A Life of Quiet Desperation
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Sad manFor years, my brother Tom lived a life of quiet desperation. I saw it and recognized it in myself, recognized what I had seen years earlier in my father’s father. I think Mom saw it too, must have at least guessed its shape and weight, but she did her best to ignore this fact. For her, I suspect, the outward trappings of a safe, comfortable life are more important than anything that might occur inside, in private, where no one can see.

I’m not sure what Dad noticed or thought. But again, I can’t imagine that he didn’t notice Tom’s state. My father loves his children and wants the four of us to be happy. Of this, I am certain.

So it is likely that we all noticed my brother’s growing unhappiness, but as is typical with my family, we politely avoided the topic.

Why discuss something that cannot be changed?

Of course, it is also possible that I, who had felt increasingly desperate in my own dysfunctional and failing marriage, saw what no one else saw because it was a reflection of my internal state prior to my separation and divorce.

Whatever the case, my brother was unhappy and I knew it. Just like I know when I take my daughter Katie to the park and see her watch other children playing effortlessly with longing in her eyes. I recognize quiet desperation when I see it.

I’m not sure what would have happened if my sister-in-law hadn’t forced Tom’s hand. But she did, and Tom moved out. For three years, they argued and mediated, fought and litigated. Then last summer, the divorce was finalized.

10931724_10153038045125801_5193524999750374991_nWhen my brother met his second wife, I watched him bloom from black and white to full HD color. Mom, in typical fashion, focused on the externals: her name, her parents’ education, her older sister’s law degree and child on the spectrum. Yes, there were some striking coincidences (Christine shares my middle sister’s first and middle name!), but these are not what make or break a relationship. If it were. I would have been happily remarried long ago.

My brother, his inertia finally broken, learned that change, while difficult, brings with it many valuable lessons: that second chances aren’t second best, that messy lives are often happier and more flexible, that without great sorrow there can be no incandescent joy.

Tom has a new wife, three children, two step-children, three cats, and a bitter ex-wife. Many would say his life is complicated, and I’m sure that it is. He’s got five kids in his house! But none of that matters because he’s happy. My brother isn’t desperate anymore, and that’s a beautiful thing.

I want this for Katie as well. I want her to feel happy and accepted for who she is. I want her to belong. I don’t want me or my daughter to feel quietly desperate—for any reason—and yet most days, that’s exactly how I suspect Katie feels. How could she not? She’s locked inside an uncooperative body, unable to ask questions or carry on a conversation. Her mouth is unreliable.

I want to give my daughter a voice. This is the thought that drives me as we push forward with rapid prompting method. Because right now, it’s not much fun for either of us. We are both fumbling along as best we can, and it’s unclear how long it will take before things get easier. But I know from experience that periods of transition are always uncomfortable. Always awkward. This is part of the process.

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I’m not going to stop until Katie is loud, vocal, joyous, and free.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Playing Chicken
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chicken-976279_1280-2The school district and I are playing a high stakes (at least for my daughter) game of chicken. They want me to sign an Individualized Education Plan (IEP)—read annual contract—committing my daughter Katie to the generic, for-profit, non-public school (NPS) in Oakland that has space. I don’t want to sign anything until a spot opens up in a school focused on autism spectrum disorder. Experience has taught me that once I sign, I lose all negotiating leverage. So until the NPS I want is written on the blank line, I’m trying my best to avoid the situation.

Or at the very least, stall.

Twice this summer we’ve had meetings, and twice I felt pressured to sign a document I didn’t want to sign. [Interestingly, not the triennial IEP that was started in December 2015, and left unfinished when the suspensions began in January 2016. Rather a whole new IEP that will include little but the placement plus draft goals that Katie more than mastered this summer.]

When the district tried to schedule a third meeting last week, I couldn’t attend due to a legitimate conflict. Feeling guilty, I told them I could call in for the alternate time slot but not attend in person due to a lack of childcare (also more or less true due to the last-minute timing of the request). Seeing how stressed I was, my boyfriend Nate said, “What’s the deal? You act like they plan to roll you.” He paused to consider. “Would they do that?”

Yes, I fear they would, although I’m sure the district wouldn’t call it that.

We had the conference call with the Program Director of the Oakland school and Katie’s would-be teacher who regaled me with details of their new sensory gym—which “will have” plenty of equipment that my school district could have provided to Katie but didn’t. In fact, this summer, the district’s occupational therapist drafted a comprehensive list of sensory equipment which begged the question: why didn’t anyone bother to try this before my child was suspended and then kicked out of school?

business-962354_1920Only the district can answer that question. For now I am focused on getting Katie the education she needs and deserves.

After the conference call, district staff tried to pressure me into signing the IEP once again. I told them I had scheduled a visit to Open Mind School (OMS), the new autism school that I had discovered. They asked when I would return from Redwood City. “We’re working late tonight.”

I thanked them for their dedication and said I had planned to attend a rapid prompting method (RPM) workshop that evening and wouldn’t be home until 9:30 p.m. or later.

“We’re working this weekend too.”

I thanked them for the information and said I needed to run.

250228_465261366867616_1625140658_nThe visit to OMS went well. The facility is beautiful and borders the San Francisco Bay. It’s tiny and innovative, and even better, the Director asked all the right questions. I actually got nervous as I toured the airy, spacious classrooms. Katie wold either thrive in this setting or crash and burn. Could she make the transition? Buckle down and work after years of boredom and low expectations? I wasn’t sure. But if they had space, I wanted to try.

The Director didn’t say no, which was huge, but she didn’t say yes either. She wasn’t sure if she could pull it off in a week. Which made sense. She said she wanted to discuss the situation with staff and would get back to me.

My school district backed down a bit after that, but I knew they would continue to push for the school they preferred.

So now I am waiting. For OMS to decide of it can take Katie. For my school district to make a move. For someone, anyone, to blink.

While I wait, I debate with myself. Will the commute to Redwood City be too long? Will the indoor swing suffice? What will I do if OMS can’t take her? What then?

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Yes, what then?

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Running Out of Time and Options
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clock-611619_1920I am now in a place that I’d hoped at all cost to avoid.

There is no available space in any of the five non-public schools (NPS) focused on autism spectrum disorder that I visited. Nothing. We have been waiting since February 1, 2016, and while my daughter is still at the top of the wait list for one or more of these schools, they have been unable to free up space to accept her.

How is it possible that in the San Francisco Bay Area there is simply no room after a nearly seven-month wait? Katie is now living proof that demand has far outstripped supply for autism services.

The problem is not just here, but everywhere. Those of us that live with the disorder know that services are difficult, if not impossible, to come by. Katie had to switch health insurance this year, which means we lost our awesome in-home team. The wait list for a new provider will be one to two years! No one I spoke to seemed embarrassed or dismayed by this piece of information, but I can tell you, as a parent, it is simply unacceptable to wait that long for essential services. Something has to change.

no-1513027_1280But for now, I’m focused on the school situation. In our district, school begins next Monday (i.e., in four days) and Katie does not yet have a placement. When I suggested that we continue the in-home “school” program that worked so well over summer, I was told no. I wasn’t given a reason, just that they would not consider it. The district wants to place Katie in one of the non-autism-specific NPSs they dragged me to last spring. Schools I rejected as being inappropriate for numerous reasons. But these are the schools with available space.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the NPS in question is located in a rough part of Oakland. Not the worst part, but just blocks from where a friend was robbed at gunpoint a few years ago. In other words, not the kind of place you want your child spending every day if you can help it.

In addition, this is a generic NPS that doesn’t seem to know much about the many “flavors” of autism. When I told the Program Director that Katie had a lot of sensory needs,  she said, “Ummm, that’s spelled out in her IEP, right?”

No, it’s not. And you shouldn’t need it to be.

The teacher had no idea what a multi-sensory reading program was and described the many life skills she taught. I smiled politely when I wanted to shout: Don’t teach Katie how to do laundry. Just teach her to read!

Supposedly the NPS is adding a sensory gym, but as far as I know, it hasn’t happened yet. What was there when I visited was totally insufficient to meet Katie’s needs. There is a park located nearby, but this is a crappy part of Oakland. Plus the park is further away than the one located adjacent to Katie’s previous school. The park no one wanted to take her to because it was “too disruptive.” But I’m supposed to believe that will change at the NPS. Right.

boy-529065_1920Furthermore, the NPS is part of a chain of schools with a for-profit business model. Yes, you read that correctly. But again, I’m supposed to accept that this won’t negatively impact Katie’s education (or lack thereof). Actually, I’m not even supposed to know that fact, but it’s amazing what you can learn when you ask a lot of questions.

If that weren’t enough, the Program Director put me on notice when I visited by stating, without a hint of irony, “We get a ton of kids here with way too many services.”

Really? This statement was so contrary to everything I know about special education that I was speechless. It was a huge red flag, and I haven’t forgotten it. No way am I putting Katie at a school that wants to cut back on her hard-won services so it can MAKE MORE PROFIT. 

For all those reasons (and more), I was hoping against hope that a slot would open up at an autism NPS. But so far, it hasn’t. My district’s Special Education Director assured me that she “would consider transferring Katie to a preferred school if space opens up,” but suffice it to say, considering a transfer is not the same as agreeing to do it, and the for-profit NPS is sure to fight a move.

On the other hand, I’m anxious to get Katie out of the house so she and I are not so isolated. I’d like to focus on work, not serve as an unpaid aide for the school district. But not at the cost of a terrible placement.

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My intuition told me to say no. But what kind of parent says no to school?

I felt trapped and scared. On a lark I searched online for a school that uses rapid prompting method (RPM) and discovered the Open Mind School. It’s California’s first full inclusion school. The description reads like something out of a dream, and I can’t wait to see it in person. I’m hoping this will be the solution I’ve been praying for.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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What Happens at Camp Arroyo, Stays at Camp Arroyo, Year 2
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IMG_0061This year, my daughter didn’t just survive, but truly thrived at summer camp.

Once again, Katie attended Camp Arroyo, which is where the Exceptional Needs Network (ENN) holds its summer camp for special needs children in conjunction with the Taylor Family Foundation. The camp may be a short three days, but ENN really goes all out, providing two bounce houses, a swimming pool, service animals, petting zoo, popcorn and snow cone machines, a host of special visitors, and a yurt devoted to art projects. They also had horseback riding, rock climbing, remote-controlled drones, and a zip line. Plus a dance on the final night.

Katie did it all. Even danced with some boys (and their aides). To someone with a typically functioning child, this may not seem like a big deal. But for Katie, who still struggles to make friends, it was a huge milestone.

13932682_1136478229724853_7614820382939382313_nKatie had a new aide this year, the amazing Ashley Angeles. She and Katie really took to each other, and Ashley had clearly read the notes on Katie from the previous year and worked out a plan to solve the twin problem of sensory overstimulation and sleep deprivation that had marred Katie’s first visit.

Clearly Ashley was successful. Katie returned home tired and a bit twitchy, but nothing out of the ordinary. And there was no significant behavior. After the year we have had, that is a tremendous accomplishment. And unlike last year, Ashley took lots of photos. So I know what Katie did at summer camp.

As was the case last year, after three days away, Katie didn’t want to come home. Ashley said they packed her things in the morning and then Katie unpacked them, telling her she wanted to stay longer. So they had to pack twice, but when Nate and I arrived for pick up, Katie seemed happy to see us. Possibly even a little homesick. She hugged me, then hugged Ashley goodbye.

Both Katie and Ashley had a great time at camp, which frankly, was almost more than I could have hoped for. Even better, as we left, Ashley told me she has been an aide at Camp Arroyo for seven or eight years. “Out of all those kids, Katie may be my favorite camper.”

IMG_0059As for me, Nate and I went out to dinner twice, watched several movies, and spent a day in Pescadero, eating green chili soup, crab sandwiches, and blackberry pie. We visited the beach and a goat cheese farm. We also attended First Friday at the Chabot Space and Science Center in Oakland, had milkshakes at Fenton’s Creamery, and window-shopped on Piedmont Avenue. I read a book and slept in every morning. It was good to get a break from the demands of parenting.

After we picked her up on Saturday, we took Katie to the park and then made cinnamon rolls at home. Katie took a nap and that afternoon we had a rapid prompting session with Lenae Crandall. I knew it would be rough, and it was. Katie was crying at one point and Lenae asked her, “Do you want to go HOME or are you FINE BUT OVERSTIMULATED?”

I was convinced Katie would chose HOME, but she selected FINE BUT OVERSTIMULATED. So they kept working, doing math as well as a lesson on aerodynamics. Katie’s mouth was unreliable and her body twitchy, but her big, beautiful brain was still able to spell thrust and gravity and then subtract 24 from 95 and get the correct answer.

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By Sunday Katie had recovered and was asking to return to Camp Arroyo. A year is such a long time to wait….

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Katie’s at Camp Arroyo!
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Camp Arroyo - LogoYesterday I dropped Katie off at Camp Arroyo. This is her second time at the Exceptional Needs Network’s summer camp for children with special needs. To say she was excited would be an understatement.

I was pretty excited too. (Still am.) Unlike most single parents, I don’t have an ex-spouse/partner who provides me with free and convenient childcare on a regular basis. As a result, I get very little time off from parenting my autistic child, and when I do, it almost never involves more than a few hours here and a few hours there. Plus it’s not cheap. To have a three-night break is an extraordinary and priceless gift.

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Thank you Exceptional Needs Network and Taylor Family Foundation. You have made one single mom very, very happy. Nate, my boyfriend, is pretty happy too.

We’re off to play….

Until next time,
Cynthia

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