Category: rant

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Autism Awareness and Developmental Issues

I had to get my son’s permission to talk about this, but he said he was okay with me talking about it.

There’s a quiz running around Facebook right now that’s supposed to give your “Autism Quotient”.  While the quiz does say it’s not a diagnosis, a lot of the discussion I’ve seen shows that people probably aren’t clear on what a confusing and complex condition autism can be.

We spent somewhere around six years, for instance, getting a solid diagnosis for my son, who clearly had developmental issues growing up.  They were very quick to jump on the High-Functioning Autistic bandwagon among the laymen.  I foot-stomped on the Asperger’s diagnosis, because Asperger’s kids are hyperverbal –one of the things that makes an early diagnosis extremely difficult[1].   If a kid’s talking obsessively about Thomas the Tank Engine at two or three, why’s that’s kind of normal.  So what if he’s memorized trivia to an extreme level of detail.  Just shows she’s bright, right?

My son was not hyperverbal. In fact, one of the first clear indications that there was something wrong was the fact that he wasn’t talking.  He said a few words as a toddler, but he was at least six before he had progressed to being fluently verbal.  Oddly enough, his verbal development exploded with his teaching himself to read.

The testing process was intensive, going to several specialists in the process.  We were lucky enough to speak to an autism specialist at CHaD (Children’s Hospital at Dartmouth) and got this response:

“Well, he’s eccentric, but he’s not autistic.”

Yes, a doctor ACTUALLY SAID THAT.

We did eventually get a diagnosis that would get him the help he needed in school, mind.  And he did (does) need that help.   But it took about six years to get a clear and definitive answer on whether or not Autism was the issue or not.  And we’re hardly unusual.

Autism is referred to as a spectrum disorder for a reason.  Yes, there are times when autism is pretty easy for a professional to diagnose.   But I can promise you that it can’t be diagnosed from a 100 question test online, okay.  It takes extensive clinical observation and ruling out of other (often similar or overlapping) issues.

If you suspect you might be autistic and think you need help, yes yes yes, go to your doctor and get some referrals to some really good professionals who can help you with this.    There is help available to you.   If you have a sympathetic friend or family member who would be willing to help you, ask for help.  If you suspect you are autistic, it is probable that many of the things you will have to do to get a diagnosis and help will be confusing and overwhelming to you.   An advocate can help you.  (Though this is a Universal Principle of Life, I think.  My son is folding the laundry right now to give me time to write this…)

If you have a child with developmental issues, you are that child’s advocate.  Take it seriously.  Follow up, follow up, follow up.   Talk to teachers.   Follow up at home with coping strategies.   Go online.  Learn about it.

Oh, and don’t forget to have fun with your child.

NIH Fact Sheet on Autism –contains many solid links at the end for extensive follow-up.

[1] I did a LOT of research on the subject when we started to suspect our son was autistic.  This made me less than eager to accept a diagnosis from a nursery school teacher who seemed pretty definite, since I knew that specialists in the field were often stumped.  If a specialist told me I was full of shit and the nursery school teacher was right, fair enough.  Early childhood educators OFTEN spot problems that need following up on, so DO that if encouraged to.  They’re just not qualified to diagnose.

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Why People Hate the Slanket

Blankets with sleeves.  People either love them or hate them.  I used my Slanket for the first time this morning[1] and because I was procrastinating my real writing, I Googled the several versions of blanket with sleeves out there.

  • They’re ugly/goofy-looking/not fashionable.

Okay, ya got me.  Slankets are silly-looking.   What I don’t get is why this matters.  If you are perfectly okay slobbing around the house in torn sweats, why in hell the goofiness of the slanket is enough to deter you, I don’t know.   If you’re fashionably dressed at all times and that’s a big thing to you, go buy some silk long johns for pity’s sake, and quit whining.

Now, I used to choose a lot of my clothing and footwear based on whether or not it was cute above all else, so I get that it’s an issue.  When I lived in Virginia, I would endure cold, wet feet rather than wear ugly shoes that kept my feet warm and dry.

One winter in New England cured that forever.  If you’re more concerned with cute than warm, you just haven’t gotten cold enough yet.  The slanket is for when you’re at home and working on something sedentary, not for when you’re socializing!

  • They’re dangerous.

People talk about fire hazards from candles and fireplaces, or wearing them while cooking.

Ummm… Idiots, don’t you remember your Girl Scout fire safety training?  Anyone who cooks with loose, flowing sleeves deserves a good burn.  Do an image search for chefs cooking.  Many of them have their close-fitted sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. There’s a reason for that.

Of course loose and flowing is a bad combination for fire.   If you have a fire going, take off the Slanket to tend to it.  What are you, stupid?[2]

  • They’re inconvenient.

These things aren’t meant for when you’re up and down all the time.    They’re meant for when you’re sitting still and doing something with your hands.  I’m wearing one right now while I’m writing this article.  When I get up to get more coffee, I take it off to go get the coffee.   I expose the delicate flesh of my hiney to the cold air of the bathroom for the few seconds it takes to go pee, too.  Some people just seem to want to take things too far.

  • They’re a cock-block[3].

If “I’m cold” is the excuse you’re getting for not having sex, you and your partner need to start being more honest in your communication.    Sex warms you up.  It ain’t that she doesn’t want to get cold, so she won’t leave the blanket with sleeves.  It’s that she doesn’t want to have sex with you.  Don’t blame the blanket.

Of course, there’s no law that says you have to love a Slanket, but it is a decent tool for staying warm for a writer who’d just as soon not turn on the heat for awhile.  Most of the posts you’ll see for the next few months will be written from underneath one.

[1] I have this thing where I try to avoid turning on the heat before November 1.  It got down to 27 last night, and the house was 60F when I got up.  If I’m going to be sitting still, I need a little warmth, ‘kay?

[2] Yes, I know there’s a Snuggie commercial showing people around a fire roasting marshmallows. Don’t do that.  It is dangerous and stupid.

[3] Yes, some yutz really asserted this.

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For the last time, introversion is not shyness!

I read a piece on introversion lately that was mostly kind of cool, but one line made me want to explode.  It dealt with karaoke and why an introvert doesn’t want to get up and perform karaoke.  Something to do with being terrified of getting up in front of the public and performing, if I recall correctly.

Friends, this is no more a hallmark of introversion than is blue eyes.

Being an introvert is not about being scared of being in the public eye.  In fact, being afraid of public speaking is an incredibly common fear that runs across the introvert/extrovert lines and has more to do with being a human being than it does with one’s mental orientation.

What’s actually a pretty common pattern is for an introvert to be a pretty accomplished public speaker, but find that she detests noisy parties.  Being an introvert isn’t about being scared.  It’s about being drained by too much interpersonal contact.

The introversion=shyness thing tends to get to rub me the wrong way.  I think partially because there is an underlying implication that the introversion needs to be cured, but also because if someone doesn’t know me well, they’ll deny I’m an introvert and interpret my behavior from an extroverted frame of reference.

Ferinstance, if someone sees that because I am not shy that I am an extrovert, but only want to socialize with them on a limited or irregular basis, they’ll interpret that as me not liking them very much, but don’t want to say so.  If they were to see me as the introvert that I am, they recognize that I just need to be alone a whole bunch and it has nothing at all to do with my fondness or not for them as people.

I remember once teaching a class and mentioning being an introvert.  I forget why it was brought up, but since I was teaching, I was probably looking for an illustrative example of something.  One of the class members immediately said, “But you’re not shy![1]”[2]

No, I’m not.  I even enjoy public speaking.

For the last time, fear of being in the spotlight is not an introversion/extroversion thing.  It’s a not-too-unusual people thing.  ‘Kay?

[1] Nancybuttons sells a button I really should buy.  “I’m not shy.  I’m studying my prey.”

[2] I am a very animated public speaker.

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Why yes, I DO find it weird

Hey, you women out there.  I got one for you:

You know if a guy grabs the butt of a woman he finds attractive and when she objects he’ll make the, “It’s the testosterone, I couldn’t help it” excuse?

Know how we don’t have any real sympathy for that?

Then why should we expect sympathy for flying off the handle at our hormone cycles?  Why should the menstrual cycle give us a free pass?  Don’t get me wrong, my moods are very much hormonally-driven.  I just don’t think that me being mean in the face of that is excusable.  I feel like I’m a grown up and responsible for my behavior.  If I pull the “I’m at the mercy of my hormones” card, and then expect a man not to, then what I’m really saying is that as a woman I’m not as much of a grownup.

I’m not into that.  I think expecting all the grownups to be grownups whether they’ve an innie or an outie is what makes the most sense.

And since we’re all human as well, yes, apologizing when one screws up[1] is a good idea, too.  “I’m sorry, I was wrong to do that, and I’m going to try to do better” should be in all our repertoires.

[1] Not if.  When.  We all do screw up.

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Being a Grownup™

I was reading a blog post called Why I’ll Never Be an Adult.  I’m guessing the author is somewhere in her late twenties/early thirties.  She speaks of physics classes, so she’s neither stupid nor incapable of thinking structurally.

It’s funny, because we all seem to have this idea that being a Grownup™ means perfect self-discipline, and if you don’t have it, you’re not a Grownup™. This particular blogger will try to be a Grownup™  by doing lots of housework, cooking perfect meals, and scheduling her life to hell and back.  She’ll also find herself failing miserably because she’s set the bar too high.  She’s trying to be more and more “perfect” in managing her life.

It’s not that I don’t get how it happens. I do and mostly because I do that.

It also has zip to do with being a grown-up.

I think we’re looking through out tween to teen goggles when we assess being a Grownup™. We see being a Grownup™ as being frenetically active and working all the time, never ever being slow, or late, or forgetful or…

You know, I’m older than one of my grandmothers was when I was born[1].   When my mother was my age, she had a married child.  I think that gets to count in terms of age.   In terms of where my life is and how I live daily?  My life isn’t really like either of theirs.   I made some radically different choices. Does that make me not a Grownup™?

Part of it might also be that we’re forgetting the help we were to our parents.  Keeping the house neat is easier when you have the husky teenager doing some of the work.   Do they do it as well as you want it done?  Almost certainly not.  I know for a fact I didn’t with my mom.  But the laundry still got folded, she did not clean every bathroom in the house, and Dad certainly wasn’t wrangling all the wood to heat the house by himself[2].   Why?  That’s more work than one person can do![3]

When we try to do it all ourselves, we’re actually setting the bar higher than our parents did for themselves.      If you’re not feeling like a Grownup™ because you can’t get it all done to white glove perfection all by your lonesome, cut yourself some slack.  Grownups™ have historically gotten help.

And if you have a kid, go make ‘em do a chore J

[1] Good lord, I actually have conscious memories of Nanny at my age.  Scary.

[2] In fact, my brother and I have had a bit of a chuckle at the fact that they got a gas furnace after he and I moved out of town.

[3] And while I don’t know this for certain, I’m willing to bet that in my grandmother’s case, her home was neater when she had three girls at home v. when they moved out.

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And, it's GOOD for you, too!

Hey, lookie here! I have a hobby of making pretty, healthy, portion-controlled lunches!  Isn’t that wonderful?  Everyone should do it because it’s Good For You!

I’m not trying to sneer at hobbies, but I do find it amusing that people often attribute some sort of beneficial or character building qualities to what is essentially a hobby.

Sometimes you’ll run across articles about knitting, extolling its stress-reliving qualities.  I’ve seen articles on sewing that remark on the same.  Martial arts is notoriously smug about this one, talking about the character building qualities of getting dressed in what’s essentially underwear and throwing people around a room.

This isn’t a new thing.  At least since early Victorian times, writers often discuss the positive, productive effects of various hobbies.  One was not supposed to read because a story was fun, but one was supposed to read material that would improve one’s mind.

Fast forward to the present and video games are considered a waste of time unless you can claim some educational or character-building qualities to them.

Me?  I think it’s kind of weird.  I mean, yes yes yes, I get a nice sweater for an inexpensive price if I knit.  My family gets some really healthy lunches  because of my bento hobby, absolutely.    But I wonder, why isn’t the simple fun of a hobby given more value?

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Swimmin' and Body Image

I’ve been slow getting off the mark with my 50 mile challenge.  But I swam a mile today, gosh darn it!  It took 50 minutes, which surprised me, as I was sure it’d be a least an hour[1].

Last year when I was talking to a friend about the 50 mile challenge and asking her if she was going to do it, she commented, “I couldn’t do that.  I’d lose count.”

I didn’t try to convince her, as I think the real reason she wasn’t doing it was a much more valid one.  She didn’t want to.  But I got to thinking about keeping count.

My pool counts a mile as 1800 yards[2].  That’s 72 lengths of a 25 yard pool, my friends, and is going to take between 40 minutes and an hour for the average lap swimmer to complete.  If you’re counting down by lap, not only are you going to lose count, you’ll probably get bored.

I don’t just hop in the pool and start counting down from 72 doing freestyle.  Forget losing count.  That would be daunting[3].

What I do is sets of laps[4].

1 X 50 Freestyle, backstroke and breastroke                        150 yards

1 X 100 Freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke                  300 yards

1 X 50 Freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke                    150 yards

1 X 200 Freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke                  600 yards

1 X 50 Freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke                    150 yards

1 X 100 Freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke                  300 yards

1 X 50 Freestyle, backstroke and breaststroke                    150 yards

Total Swim:                                                                                         1800 yards

What this really means is that I never count higher than eight, what with 200 yards being 8 lengths.  But it is also a lot easier to face.  By the time I’ve warmed up with the shorter sets, 200 yards of a stroke isn’t particularly intimidating.

I also had a funny thing happen in the locker room today.  Like many women in the gym, especially ones with really long hair who need to dry it, I walk from the showers to the lockers with my hair twisted in a towel, but otherwise am not wearing anything.

It really quiet, only another woman and I.  She was swathed in a towel and dressing under it.  She commented that she admired my confidence about walking naked to the lockers.  She sounded really kind of sad and wistful.

I turn around as I’m putting on my underwear.  She’s about 5’7”, and maybe a size 8.  Had I seen her first, I would have suspected condescension.  But the vocal tone combined with the careful draping of the towel made it clear enough.

I made a joke of it and asked if she had kids.  When she said no, I commented, “Eh, well, giving birth will blow away any body modesty.”

The thing is, that she felt badly about her body was hurting her.  I think it was a bit of a shock to her that the body modification you can achieve in a gym wasn’t necessarily going to cure it.  Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for working out and all that smack.   Obviously, what wit me being there and all.  But I’m not there to make myself acceptable to what I think outside perception is.  I wish I could have thought of something to say that would have helped her.  I wish I’d commented that her body is fine the way it is.  I wish I’d commented that you don’t have to fit a physical mold to earn the right to live.

I just hope my example said something to her, as the pain she clearly felt really bothered me.

[1] Note to competitive swimmers:  I know, I’m slow.  Go laugh at me somewhere else.
[2] Yes, a real mile is 1780 yards, but that’s not divisible by 25 yards – the length of the pool.
[3] And courting a rotator cuff injury
[4] This will look familiar to competitive swimmers, though a bit of a light workout.

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Whose Job is the Housework?

“The guys just don’t feel the same way we do about the house. They don’t have the guilt that eats away at them.” Flylady in an answer to a letter about the Husband’s clutter.

Oh boy…

Here’s the problem.  Do you know why men don’t feel guilty if the house looks like shit?  It’s because quite often they feel it’s the woman’s job to clean the house.  You can’t feel guilty about something you feel isn’t your responsibility!

Now, as it happens, I am the one who takes charge of how the house looks.  There are several reasons, and yes, one of the reasons is that I’m the one who cares the most about it and I’ve made some life choices that give me the time.  But you know what?  If I had something else I was doing that I considered important[1], I would consider that the important thing to do.  I will, have and do react incredibly badly to the automatic assumption that having a uterus means that I’m the one who should automagically be in charge of how the house looks.  Lack of help cleaning up after dinner would have me quite disinclined to cook another single meal.   I haven’t the slightest problem with asking people to pick up after themselves, and consistent refusal to do so is definitely a relationship-killer with me.

But the guilt thing?  Friends, that’s some sexist socialization there.  Partnerships and equitability are one thing, but you wouldn’t establish a business partnership with the relationship  and responsibilities unexamined.  Why shoot yourself in the foot with your life partners?

[1] A book deadline, for instance, would mean that instead of me doing the lion’s share of the household chores, we’d be splitting housework up in thirds Or There Would Be Serious Trouble.

 

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Y'all is Plural

There’s a Facebook group about the appropriate way to spell the contraction of “you all” so prevalent in the South.

The expression is y’all.  Not ya’ll.

But there’s more to it than that.  It’s also plural.

Yes, yes, I bet some of you Yankees have seen a Southerner appear to address a single person with the expression “y’all”.  But, you really didn’t.

Example:

You’re waiting in line to pay your light bill, when someone in front of you is waving a receipt angrily and is saying, “Why did you turn of my lights?  I paid y’all last week!”

The individual in question is not addressing the singular person behind the counter, but the entire company as represented by the customer service representative.   In this case, the organization is a collective group of people appropriately addressed as “you all” or “y’all.”

If you are alone and are given the farewell, “Y’all come back now, y’hear?” you’re still not being addressed as “y’all” singularly.  You’re being addressed as a representative of a group of people (most likely your family) all if whom the speaker is expressing the wish to socialize with again.

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Raising Children

I  don’t like the expressions “raising children” or even “rearing children”.  It implies the end product is children.

If you’re a parent, you’re not aiming for an end product of childhood, but an end product of adulthood.  You’re not raising kids, you’re raising grownups!

I’m not trying to imply that children shouldn’t have a childhood, play, be silly, and enjoy life.  On the other hand, I think it would do most grownups I know a lot of good to play, be silly and enjoy life, too. I think that particular aspect of life is less a developmental stage and more of a part of the human condition.  Hell, I’m in my 40s and I like snowball fights, baking cookies, making up games when playing in the pool, and being absurd as much as I ever did.  Doesn’t stop me from mopping the floor when it gets dirty or doing taxes.

What I do think is that we prolong childhood way too far.

I was thinking about it this weekend when I revisited one of my favorite movies, The Lost Boys. The focal characters were mostly between the ages of 16 and 19.  Even casting aside the whole idea that they were vampires, so probably even older than that, these characters were what happens when you have people whose bodies are adults, but they’re at loose ends because they’re told that they’re children, powerless and don’t have a useful or productive place in society.  All that youthful energy had nowhere to go.  Energy that has nowhere to go more often than not goes into destructive channels.

The mother character gave completely mixed messages to her oldest son that got even stronger when you get to see some of the scenes that were cut from the final release.  Now, on the whole, I think the character was quite a good mother, but merely acting as a product of our society.  On the one hand, she wanted him to look after his younger brother when she couldn’t be there – to be a parent surrogate.  That’s an adult role.  But then she discouraged him, in some cut scenes, from contributing financially to the family in a time of need.  Sure, her reasoning was understandable.  She wanted him to continue his education!   But what she was really discouraging him from doing was stepping up to the plate as an adult and contributing to the welfare of his loved ones.

Given our social and economic structure, I’m not sure how this problem is going to be solved, but we need to and soon.  It’s been going on since the 1950s and we’re going to run ourselves into the ground if we don’t stop it.