Critter Update

"Maeve" looks right into the camera!

I am pleased to say the the Irish 6 chicks are all doing well.  They get out every day for about 6-8 hours in the yard.  They are a month old, and sweet as can be.  When I come out the door into the yard, they all run toward me!  Peeping like mad: "Mommy!"  Maeve continues to be the boss.  Bridget the youngest and whitest of the girls is always wanting me to hold her. 
Figaro is doing well.  Very subdued, after his health scare.  No more kitten left in him.  He continues to try and BE my laptop.  :-)

Maeve and Shannon

"Did you want to delete that file?"

Google is not asking me for any more money for posting photos.  We'll see. What was that all about?

I am busting my butt for Mothers Day orders, and getting ready for a show.  The garden season is also here, and 3 of the raised beds are planted.  We are eating salad greens, as well as peas.  The big tadoo is getting the irrigation system in place.  My son has been helping me on his day off install it.  He's been a terrific helper, and planner.  He also is inquisitive about growing food.  I promise to get some photos to show soon. 

Thanks for reading.  Each day is a gift. Open now.
xo,
Suz

Chickens, Cats, and Dogs, and Autism

First, there are no NEW photos, because Google now wants to charge me for my blog.  I may move to another.  Sorry for no new photos.  This has thrown me for a loop.  :-(

Last year I posted a list of my "Golden Rules" of parenting your child(ren) with autism.  I will post them again at the bottom of this post.  When we got the diagnosis of Autism my son was 7.  For years I had battled with his father to get help.  Secretly I brought him to the Speech and Language Clinic at Northwestern University.  Twice a week I paid out of my hidden pocket for speech.

A gesture/sign language was started for "more, no, stop."  And what was my son's first word asking for more milkshake? "MORE!"  The flood gates opened on that milkshake day, and a new word a day started.  The connection between what he wanted and language was finally made.   One day he told his father we were going to speech, busted I was.  That was the end of that.  We limped along until the school district intervened at the start of 1st grade. I had already researched who  to see.  The school, the pediatrician, and many others had said "Autism."

By now the ex husband wouldn't hear of such a "label" put on his child.   He insisted I made him this way or he would out grow these behaviors. I joked and said if he got me some more yarn, I'd make him another one.  It was either special ed, or get out of the district.  School was insistent, and I was  no longer the bad guy.  We chose "inclusion" because that was the only choice.

We lived on the farm at this time.  My son's chicken perseveration was in full bloom.  He connected to these birds.  He loved to sit on his small lawn chair and watch them.  He talked about them and to them in monologue after monologue.  Clucking at kids in school, us, and strangers. I encouraged this relationship, sometimes wondering if it was such a good idea.  But he was gentle, caring, and loving towards these birds.

As you know, his Father was asked to leave through a court order.  So the cats/kittens could come in the house.  One kitten that my son had loved was a brown tabby: "Sylvester."  At 5 he had given Sylvester a haircut one day with safety scissors.  He had cut all his stripes off, because he wanted "a pwain cat."  A plain one.   Where was I when this happened...I don't remember.  But I do remember my parents were visiting, and my mother was sure he was to be a serial killer because of the haircut. Sylvester was none the worse for wear.  He started sleeping on my sons pillow at night in a crescent shape, cradling his red hair. 

After we left the farm we were down to 2 cats, no chickens.  There was a golden retriever puppy my friend had seen in a local pet shop. The thought of a dog caged for months drove me mad. We went to see her.  Of course we fell in love.  "Rosie" was named by my son.  She was a red Golden, almost the same color as his hair.  Rosie fell in love with him, and he with her.  She was sent for training as a service dog for a month.  When she came back she was his constant companion.  His friend when he had none.

When my son went away to a special camp, Rosie was grieving.  She sat by the front door he had walked out of for 4 weeks ago. Barely eating or drinking.  There were window lights on each side of the door that she kept a vigilant watch from.  When he returned she just about mauled him to death with love.  Really, it was a sight to see.  The joy in both of their faces was exquisite.  Rosie was his friend until she succumbed to cancer at the age of 8.

The day we put her to sleep, he was at the Vet's alone with her.  We sat in the car waiting.  We could hear him wailing from the parking lot.  It broke our hearts to hear him cry like that.  I have never heard him cry the way he did that day.   He has not gotten a dog again for several reasons.  One, he's gone all day at work. Two, most rentals don't allow dogs.  One day he will get another, I know it.   In the mean time he has learned to love through pets.  Chickens, to cats, then dogs.  I know the autism books say this is not possible.  I see the way my son loves and shows affection to his fiance.  So don't believe everything you read.

I offer a different story and perspective, as no two children are the same.  We had a visitor once who had a son with autism with her. They spent the night, and in the morning the 10 year old child was standing next to our bed with our cat in a plastic bag.  The cat survived, thank goodness.  And another friend's son who as an adult grabbed and squeezed their dog when ever he got the chance.  Their dog hid every time that young man left his room.  She was terrified of him. So you have to be the once to judge if your child is safe with pets.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
1. Don't fall into the "bad haircut syndrome"... the child will not outgrow it.
2. Families are the bottom line. So don't expect the school district to fix it.
3. Address sensory issues. Here is an excellent link on Sensory Integration issues:
     http://sensorysmarts.com/
4.  Teach to the child's/adult's perseverations.  Use your child's favorite obsession to teach real life
      subjects. I laminated chicken pictures and we did "chicken math" to teach arithmetic.
5.  Find a behaviorist and work on your behaviors as well as the child with Autism. Consult with this
     professional as unwanted behaviors arise.
6.  Don't swim in this sea alone. Support groups for parents saved my sanity.
7.  What is so special about Special Ed?  Most programs allow bad behaviors to continue. But real life
     as an adult does not.  This goes back to rule #1.  I had to explain to our school that my son would not
     always be a school aged child.  They were surprised by this news. :-)
8.  Teach the child to learn to live without you.  How?  Over night summer camps.  Although expensive,
      they will give confidence, skills, and a sense of independence that does not come naturally.  Parents
      can recharge their batteries. Which is imperative.  Many have sliding pay scales.
9.  Find a program that matches the child vs. trying to make the child match the program.
10.  They need the most love when they are acting like they deserve it the least.  Love and affection
      will be accepted and reciprocated if you continue to give it.
11.  When the child is capable/ready/mature/wanting: get a pet that is ONLY the child's.  Teaching your
       child to care for this pet will teach compassion, and life skills.  This is a tricky one which is why
       it is last.
  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Thanks for reading.
Each day is a gift. Open now.
xo,
Suz

Love

10.)These kids need the most love when they are acting like they deserve it the least.  Love and affection will be accepted and reciprocated if you continue to give it.

 When my son was a baby, he was happiest in his swing or in his crib.  Most kids fall asleep in the car, it wound him up. Going to the park usually ended in some altercation with another child. Playgroup was a nightmare.  Most of the time he wanted to be alone.  It was Mommy's idea to go to the park,  join a playgroup, or invite people over.  Eventually, I stopped taking him places unless we had to go. By the time he was 4, not many people even wanted him to come over.  I was isolated, lonely, and pre diagnosis clueless.  He did have a few kids he wanted to be around.  One on one, not in loud groups.  The beach (my favorite) was an assault on his senses: hot sand, cold lake water, suntan lotion, and if it was windy he covered his ears or eyes.  What he really liked was being inside the house playing with our canister vacuum and it's attachments.

One summer the city decided to put in all new water and sewer pipes. Huge backhoes, bulldozers, payloaders showed up one Monday at 8am in front of our corner house.  The crew were all Italians.  At 10am one of them would go to a local bakery or donut shop and bring back a box. They all sat on the grassy parkway under a tree drinking coffee from their thermos' and eating.  Many spoke Italian.  My son was over the moon about the earth moving equipment in his front yard.  By the end of the week he had taken his little lawn chair and parked it in the shade.  He was happy to sit and watch them.  He knew after the first day to stay back.  They worked, he watched...perfeto!  The 3rd week he was eating his lunch outside in his chair when they broke for lunch. Now they were watching him.  He still was not talking, and the workmen tried to talk to him.  I told them his name, and they all told him their names.  Silence, but smiles of delight.

By the 4th week the crew realized this kid wasn't going anywhere.  I knew that
I would be spending the summer with an Italian construction crew.  "Vito" drove the backhoe.  That was my son's favorite.  When the crew left at night, we would let him sit in the seats of the equipment. He was in heaven.  By the 6th week he was having donuts with them. I felt this was good, as he was limited in foods he would eat.  His birthday is in July.  I bought the pastries on his birthday for "their" coffee break.  At the end of the day Vito asked if he could take my son up in the cab and let him drive the backhoe.  Talk about thrilled.  I think he was still smiling when he went to bed.  Vito made quite an impression.  While other mothers were having picnics at the lakefront, I was having donuts with Italian construction workers. But my son was happy, and that made me happy.

Those days seemed far away by the time public school 3rd grade arrived.  I was called every day to come in and talk to some staff member.  I do not exaggerate.  He was in trouble constantly.  We kept a journal with the aide.  Kids taunted him, teachers yelled at him, he was in the principal's office so often that he started fixing the secretary's printer when it would seize up.  The first hour home after school he had to decompress.  I would engage him in a favorite activity, or have a snack once he was relaxed.  One afternoon he was sitting at the kitchen table after school. 
"Why am I a boy nobody can love?" he asked.  My heart went into my throat, and I could feel the tears start to come.  I couldn't think of an answer.  So I asked: "Is that how you feel, unlovable?"   He nodded his head, and slumped his shoulders.  This is one of those crystal clear memories we have few of.
All I could do was try to hug him with his stiff bristly posture. He didn't pull away.  I knew at that instant that I had to change that perception, and feeling.  I think I cried for days afterward every time I thought of him feeling unlovable.  It still breaks my heart.  From that moment on I knew I had to love him when he acted the most unlovable.  His behaviors during our divorce were pretty scary sometimes.
Outbursts came often, and he's a big kid.  Somehow, I always forgave him.  Sometimes, I had to go in the other room, as I thought I would lose my mind.  Sometimes I needed a time out.  He taught me to love in a way I had never known love. He was affectionate to me, his big sister, and his Dad. He hugged and kissed us all the time.  And only us.

By the time Middle School arrived,  I was all he had left.  Big Sis was a mom herself living in another state.  Dad had lost all visitation.  We had moved from the farm back to the city.  I walked him from my car in the lot to the front door of his school on a Fall morning.  We said our good byes, and he turned and kissed me on the mouth in front of the entire school and said: "Love ya Mum."  I looked around and the kids were indeed watching.  Now for the first time I realized that he was too big to hold my hand walking into school.  And it really wasn't age appropriate to kiss Mum goodbye in front of school.  This is another crystal clear memory.   We had a little talk, and I think a few kids made fun of him.  As Fall turned to Winter he would say: "Love you Mum." and walk away from my car.  No hugs or kisses.

When I see my son and his fiance being affectionate, it makes me melt.   I hear him tell her he loves her at the end of every phone conversation.  Most of the time when we are ending a phone conversation he tells me he loves me, as he does my husband.  I know he knows we love him. Wherever the school psychologist is that told me he would never show love and affection, nor receive it: I have one thing to say.  I love you for being wrong.


Thanks for reading.
Each day is a gift. Open now.
xo,
Suz

You Are Not Alone

"The Administrator"  painted at 14.

There were some pretty painful times for me when my son was growing up.  Family, neighbors, friends lost because they couldn't handle my sons behaviors.  I felt pretty isolated, and it wasn't just a feeling.
A speech therapist asked me if I wanted to meet another mother with a son who had "Aspergers" in our town.  "You mean there's another one?"  I replied sounding pretty daft.  But at the time I knew no one else with a kid with Autism.  So I gave the woman my phone number.

The next day the woman called me about 10 minutes after I dropped my boy at school.  After introducing herself she said she may have to go because her son had been having difficulty in his class, and they called her almost daily to come get him.  Hmmm, someone was leading a parallel life to mine. Like a science fiction story.  And indeed the phone did "click" and it was me getting called  to pick up my son.  In the few minutes we got to talk there was an instant endearment to each other.  I didn't have to explain, there were no silent pauses after I spoke.  I could almost hear her head nodding when I told her about my son.  We agreed to meet, and she said she knew another mother with a daughter who had PDD-Nos.

That phone call turned into a parents support group I started.  There was an autism support group about 30 minutes from our farm, and I had been to that.  Those parents had children who did not speak.  My issues were about the things that came out of my son's mouth!  Like calling the principal a F'ing Idiot in front of 100 first graders.  The group I needed was for the higher end of the autism spectrum.  When I started the group, it was over coffee at Denny's.  I had landed on a planet of "my people."  They understood like no one else can.  Which is why support groups can be so supportive. hehe

Our group grew to almost 75 families in a small farm community.  We had guest speakers: MD's, PhD's, behaviorists, speech therapists, you name it.  We even had adults with Aspergers come and talk to parents.  Everyone would bring something to show and tell. Books (back then there were few), conference information, professionals they had worked with, medication updates, legislation that impacted our kids, and some times school work their child had done.  This was when they thought 1 in 10,000 kids had some form of Autism.  Now it's 1/89 boys.  The bookshelves and internet are filled with information.

The most important thing these parents brought to the group was understanding.  The need to feel accepted, understood, and listened to.  We did that for each other.  That was our bond. For those 2 hours every month we could just be who we were.  Everyone around the table understood.  We had a phone list, and used it when ever we needed a sounding board or sanity.   For the first time since my son was 2, I left the "Island of Autism" and rowed to "The Land of Understood."  I was no longer alone.

I went to Autism conferences, and the internet was just happening. I was on an Autism list serve of adults with Autism and a few parents.  When my son would go to bed, I would go to the computer to see what my "non NT's" (nuerotypical) were up to.  I met an adult woman who had autism. We became very good friends, and she became friends with my son too.  He still calls her his "Auntie Jane."  They had much more in common than she and I did.  I also met Jim Sinclair of ANI.  He wrote a very powerful piece called: "Don't Mourn For Us."  He started a summer gathering in upstate NY called "Autreat."
http://www.autreat.com/dont_mourn.html

It's an eye opener, if you have never read it.  What Jim Sinclair showed me was not to pity my child with Autism, and not to feel sorry for myself.  The people who were in my life in my son's early years looked upon him and me as some modern day lepers.  Jim and the others at ANI had self respect, lived full lives, and were the most social people with Autism I had ever heard of.  I thank them, and Temple Grandin for putting dignity into Autism.  When they asked my son at the Autreat camp to "tape the next session." He did just that...winding police line tape all around the chairs before everyone arrived.  When the presenter came in and saw tape everywhere, she smiled from ear to ear.  So did everyone else who came into that room.  In fact they praised my son for his excellent taping job.  And so, he too was no longer alone.  He had found a place where he belonged.

I have lost touch with most of the ANI members.  As I do not have Autism.   ANI is truly a group for them.  My son at 23 doesn't have any  contacts with them.  I hope one day he does.  I understand that at his age he doesn't want to tell people.  I respect his wishes.  Most of the ANI people who shared their stories and lives with me didn't want people to "know" when they were in their 20's.  They had had enough of Special Ed, and the "short bus."  Seeming to be normal was important in their 20's.  Now that the rate of Autism is so high, I think normal is beginning to be much more "A".   The gave him a sense of belonging that I believe has enabled him to belong in places of his life today.

Untitled. From a series with a mannequin done with his art therapist.

Thanks for reading.
Each day is a gift. Open now.
xo,
Suz


PS-- on a totally different subject.  An Etsy seller who has two brothers that I have worked in the movie biz with made a video for her Blocks.   Shot in our beautiful NM. You gotta see it.  It's brilliant, the music is delightful, and I have watched it several times.  Such talent in this family. Check it out!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGdrOelyj5Y&feature=youtu.be

Perseveration, You Can Say That Again !! And Again.

copyright 1994 s.weese

perseverate |pərˈsevəˌrāt|verb [ intrans. ] Psychologyrepeat or prolong an action, thought, or utterance after the stimulus that prompted it has ceased.DERIVATIVESperseveration |pərˌsevəˈrā sh ən| |pərˈsɛvəˈreɪʃən| nounORIGIN early 20th cent.: from Latin perseverat- ‘strictly abided by,’from the verb perseverare (see persevere ).
-----------------------------------------
I know that reaching my son through his subjects of interest was the key to reaching him.  Thank goodness for me he had many perserverations.  Trains, Construction Trucks, Fire Trucks, Leggos, Playmobile, Infinity, Vacuums, Chickens, Crime Scene Tape, Submarines, Inventors, Space, Rock Climbing, Bicycles, Banjo and Bluegrass Picking, Aliens, Computers, Painting, LED lights, Clay, Sprinklers, Dirigibles,  Magic, and now Cars...ones that go fast.At a young age there was nothing that made him happier than playing with our Electrolux canister vacuum. He'd take on and off the attachments on the living room floor.  When I tried to put the vacuum away, he'd have a tantrum at 2.  The people who came to my house  thought I vacuumed all the time. :-)  When he got his first red shiny fire truck.  He slept with it for a week. I'd go to get him from his crib and he'd have ladder prints on his cheek from sleeping ON the truck.  When he learned to talk, there was one subject he brought up instantly when he came to someone's home.  "Do you mind if I look at your vacuum?"  He knew everyone's vacuum.  Usually calling the owner by the name of their vacuum instead of their name.  When his Godfather bought a house with an in house wall vacuum, I thought he would burst with joy.  And some of you know today he works in a vacuum shop. Back to perseverations.  At school they tried to interest him in their subjects.  But few held his attention.There was no way of getting him off course when he was heading down the tracks of a perseveration.  The good teachers used his "obsession du jour" to teach him science, english, history.  The  less than good ones, just wrung their hands and shook their heads in frustration.  In first grade (the year he was  diagnosed) he was not getting numbers.  Having characters, be they letters or numbers  meant nothing to my very visual learner.  Special Ed even tried plastic cubes.  At 7 he was a handful.  His eyes would glaze over, and I knew he wasn't even present, let alone getting what adding 2 orange blocks and 2 blue blocks meant.At that age he was sooooooo obsessed with his chickens.  Sometimes he'd crow or cluck when someone spoke to him.  Kids in his class thought he was really weird. One day it dawned on me as I was laminating something for his classroom Aide. I will photocopy a bunch of different chicken breeds he likes, and laminate them.  We'll do "chicken math."  And we did.  Adding 3 buff Cochins to 3 Barred Rocks...that was something he could get his head around.  I can't remember the transition from Chicken Math to regular math.  It wasn't long before he was doing regular math.   I learned something too.  Stop trying to force this octagonal peg into a round hole.  Look for the octagonal hole.  Ahhhhhhhhh.

He held the keys.

Many years later, part of his high school work program was to work in a vacuum store.  The man who owned that store was an angel.  Mr. Duffy.  He is an angel, as he's passed to another life.  But I hear my son quote him often when a vacuum "situation" arises.  I will never forget driving him to work and watching him put his key in the front door of the store one Saturday morning.  It was like a truck ran me over seeing him open a shop and knowing he'd been responsible and trustworthy enough to be given a shop key.  I sat in my truck watching him through the window turn on lights, put the open sign in the window, and arranging vacuums.  I cried, and I'm crying now typing this. That moment, I knew it had all been worth it.  He was going to be a productive member of our society. The sword of Damocles called "residential placement" was lifted from above my head.Today he works at a different store, and is quite the employee.  I am boasting, but I can't help myself. He not only has the key, but beat all sales records, and they send him to Las Vegas every year to the Vacuum and Sewing Machine Dealer Convention.  Yes, they send him.  All expenses paid. At 23, most "normal" kids haven't been on a "paid by the company" trip.  I know why he's broken all sales records.  He has a particle meter he brings out when demonstrating the different vacuums. When he looks up, he has watery eyes (something he's had since childhood when he feels emotional).   He shows the customer how much dust is or isn't being blown back into the air.  He's pretty passionate about it. Who could say no to that?There is a world vacuum collector meeting every year. One year I am going to send him to it.  He collects vacuums, that's for sure.  We have many in our attic. He has some of his favorites hanging on bike hooks in his apartment. He loves vintage vacuums.  Buying them at Goodwill, or thrift shops and fixing them up to resell (sometimes keep) is a "hobby."  When someone has a really old vacuum and he is able to fix it, he gets tears in his eyes.  He loved the kids video "The Brave Little Toaster."  If you have a young child on the Autsim spectrum...I highly recommend it. He's taken many a dust sucker or rug shampooer and put his own "after market" features on it. It sounds like everyday is wonderful.  Mostly they are.  His love of  cars, has caused him many a heart ache. He can't leave any car he has alone.  When one tinkers with vacuums, they don't have to drive them to work.  But cars are a different matter.  He just got a new car (used) and he's promised his fiance it will be his transportation, and he won't soup it up.  She had to drive him to work for 6 weeks when his last car's transmission died.  When he was young I had to hide every screwdriver. If he had one, he would unscrew light switch plates, the phone, appliances, anything to turn that screw.  I was constantly turning on lights and having the switch plate crash on the floor.  He found out dimes work as well as most flat head screw drivers, and I seriously considered doing away with dimes all together. Today his new car works, and really, that is his responsibility.  It would be much easier to just keep buying him new cars. But what will he learn from that?  He'd learn that he can do whatever he would like to his car, and Mommy will buy him a new one.  Not my idea of good parenting. He was single handedly supporting the red light camera program in our town.  But he learned.  Driving has been my biggest worry.  Little impulse control, perseverating on something else while driving, and being a 23 year old male are not what makes my heart sing.  If I think about it much, I can really work myself into a lather.  There ARE other people's lives at stake here. If I've told him to "drive safe" once, I've said it a million times.  It's my way of asserting some facade of control...as I really have none.  Thanks for reading.Each Day is a Gift. Open now.xo,SuzPlease forgive the crazy breaks in lines. I can't get it to be fixed. :-(

A Bad Haircut

Today is National Autism Awareness Day.  For those of you parenting a child with Autism, I am sure you are VERY aware.  On CNN this morning they said: "wear blue for Autism."  Sorry if I offend, but I think it's ridiculous.  365, 24/7 parents are on the front line.  I think today is a day others could do something nice  for a family with an Ausitic child (or 2, or 3).  Like, watch the kid while the parents take a nap.  Start there, skip the blue nonsense. :-)

1. Don't fall into the "bad haircut syndrome" ... the child will not outgrow it.


Denial comes in all forms.  Sometimes we need denial, as life is too much.  The invisible policeman in our brains says:"Not letting this information through."  It's a built in check and balance system designed to keep us sane.  Other times we become that policeman and refuse to deal with the situation at hand.  Autism is a developmental, life long  disability.  Professionals sometimes say: "developmentally delayed."   When they started using that "delayed" phrase with my son I thought they meant his development was just late for the party, but would arrive.  His biological father thought it would arrive any minute.  The more I learned, the more I realized "delay" was used because the "Pros" didn't really know, and in their defence could not know what my 4 year old could do in 20 years.

When one gets the diagnosis...there are stages. Relief at first, to know what "it" is.  Then grief begins.  As this is not what we thought we were getting when we decided to have a child.  The loss of the dream is what I grieved...at first.  Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's grief model: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kübler-Ross_model .
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.  Not always in this order. :-)

Denial.  It comes in all forms. Some parents really believe the child will outgrow this.  That somehow they will come home from work one day and it will be all gone.  Comparing my child to all the printed information.  If Jason bangs his head, and "my Bobby doesn't...see he doesn't have Autism."
Blaming the Autistic behaviors on parents or family members.  "Oh, his father did the same thing when he was little."  Or blaming vaccines, pregnancy, ourselves keeps us in denial.  Aspergers diagnosis is the one that really gets me.  "My son has Aspergers, he's doesn't have Autism."  I don't know what the DSM V decided...but in IV Aspergers is under the Autism 299 section.  Cure is a sly form of denial.  Many parents get stuck in the "cure" and never address all the issues that need to be.  If they can cure their child, they never have to accept it.  The slyest of all is Control, and that could be it's own book. How I controlled it was to learn everything possible, immersing myself in books, papers,  and information that made me feel as if I could just get that one piece of information--I'd be on top of this Autism thing.  Hahaha...it never happened.  Worry is another mask of control. "If I worry about it, I am somehow doing something about it."  Uh...not really. I was just making myself sick, and I had to face it.

Getting all the information about my son I could, was the best thing I could do for him.  He has huge auditory processing difficulties.  His wiring makes his hearing scrambled.  He had better than normal hearing, and it all went into his brain as if I had put it into a blender. No wonder he didn't talk until 4. Then when he did, it was garbled. It's what he heard.  A 4 hour audiologist appointment showed me this. He sat on my lap in a sound booth.  The Dr. said two words and my son was to repeat them.  20% of what she said, he repeated correctly.  I realized that part of his non compliance
(don't you love that term?) was because he didn't even hear what people were saying.  That was just a start.  His processing issues of all his senses needed evaluation.  Which is why sensory integration is so important.
 http://sensorysmarts.com/ 


His hearing is still scrambled. My son has strange pronunciation of certain words.  Dyslexia is a natural outcome of auditory processing trouble. How can one be hooked on Phonics, if one doesn't hear correctly?  Which is why we moved to Albuquerque all by ourselves when he was in 8th grade and not reading.  I found a private school that used different neuropathways to teach reading and writing.  Many thousand dollars later...I am happy to say it worked.  He is able to read and write well enough to be a productive member of society.  He will never be a book guy. But he's a magazine, website, texting guy at 23.  If I had stayed in Illinois they would have residentially placed him. At the time Illinois had no programs for a high functioning autistic, dyslexic, high IQ kids.  Their answer was to send him to a hospital day school, or Texas residential warehouse program.   I, on the other hand--took his IEP and used it for packing material in our move.  http://www.dldsycamoreschool.com/   I am eternally grateful to the teachers at DLD Sycamore School.  He was a handful!


In a nutshell: I learned my son's strengths and weaknesses.  I used his strengths to reach him.  Today he texted me saying that a woman had come in his store with one of my Etsy shop necklaces on.  He still hears A and I as the same letter, and the spelling wasn't great.  But I understood what he was saying, and that to me, is what counts.  


Thanks for reading. 
Each day is a gift. Open now.
xo,
Suz

PS. Please forgive the breaks in this crazy format.  I get it all set up and hit "publish" and it's a mess.
I don't know why.