The feel good factor

When I made the decision to start blogging about my youngest daughter, I also made the decision to try and focus on the more light hearted side of things.  Having been a visitor to hell and back more times than I would care to remember in those early dark days, I wanted to put that part behind us and concentrate on how far the Dancing Queen has come.  And I guess also focus on how much she has taught me on the way.

However today I read the blog of a parent with a child with severe autism who was essentially saying that he was fed up with people sending him feel good stories about autism.  It’s not often that I come out swinging on this particular topic, but I must admit that the article rankled me.

Fairly early on along the parenthood route, I began to get a better understanding of that huge divide between woman with children and woman without which until then had seemed unfathomable.  Then I worked out there were equally significant chasms between working mothers and non working mothers, as well as mothers of single children and those that had multiple.  After that I worked out the gap (possibly the greatest of them all) between mothers with children that fall into society's "normal" parameters and those that have children with special needs of whatever description. 

What I would hate to think however, is that there also exists a vast partition depending on where your child falls on the spectrum.  I know without any doubt that we are one of the lucky ones and for that I am eternally grateful.  I have a beautiful and very special daughter who will be one of my greatest teachers. And yes sometimes when I read the really heart wrenching stories, I feel guilty.  The last thing I want to do is to rub it in anyone's face.  But at the same time, hope is our most valuable commodity.  We have come so far already, why can I not unashamedly believe that hope and complete faith in my child will help her go even further?

As a parent of a mildly autistic child, I know I have limited understanding of the heartache that parents raising children at the other end of the spectrum are going through.  But that's not to say that we are not without any of that pain. I have a seven old that hates her brain because she has already worked that it is different from her peers.  I am lucky that she is able to express her feelings but at the same time that in itself in this context represents a significant challenge, and as a mother it is one that pulls at every single heart string.

So for now I am going to continue to focus on the plus side of things to the best of my abilities.  And if I do offend or upset any parents out there, my apologies in advance because it will never be my intent to.  My hat is permanently off to all parents raising any child of any description. 

The Gingerbread Man - an adaptation

Today's recipe - take a supposedly harmless childhood character, the imagination of an autistic child, a small pinch of creativity, a range of sweet spices from a pantry foray and a large dose of patience (even if done while gritting one's teeth).

Sleep time is not the Dancing Queen's strong point and we have virtually worked through the entire excuse book as to why sleep is not necessary that particular night.  In some instances, she gets ten points for creativity, the Gingerbread Man one being a good case in point.  To most kids, the Gingerbread Man story is about a cute little baking product of a lonely elderly woman who eventually gets eaten after taunting half the local village.  Its a first reader book, something cute to make at Christmas and sometimes a treat at the local cafe/bakery.  End of story.  Not in this house.  The Gingerbread Man took on a life of its own and was apparently the source of nightmares for about two weeks. The latest fixation, he became the latest excuse for not going to sleep - if she did, she would be gobbled up by him as he loved sleeping children in particular.


We suggested all sorts of alternative endings to the dream - including pretending that she in fact was the fox and got to gobble him up but no, apparently he could regenerate all limbs, grow a new head etc.   After about two weeks of this, the story was wearing a bit thin.  So almost in exasperation, I raided the pantry.  The end result was a sweet smelling concoction of nutmeg, mixed spices, cinnamon, a bit of brown sugar etc - basically anything that could act as a sweet antidote to gingerbread (I did not elaborate what gingerbread was in fact made of).  This was placed in a small bowl right next to her bed and was to act as a magical deterrent to all maundering late night gingerbread men.  The next morning she proudly reported that the Gingerbread Man had taken one look at the magical potion and had run off as fast as he could (basically at the same speed as in the story).  The little bowl stayed in her room for nearly two weeks.

Last night, the Dancing Queen proudly handed back the Gingerbread Man antidote, telling me it was no longer required as he had moved to China.  Thank goodness for pantry staples and the ability to believe.

But it is still going to be a very long time before I let her watch the final scenes in the Ghostbusters movie where that giant marshmallow man wrecks havoc.

Follow the yellow brick road

Today is the book week parade at school, and the Dancing Queen has (nervously) skipped out the door with her new sparkly red shoes as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. We thought the choice of character appropriate on a number of different levels, not least of which is the fact that she has watched the movie at least a dozen times over the past week - which makes a nice change from Care Bears for starters. 

The other obvious point is the fact that Dorothy has all sorts of adventures in a magical land where she befriends various people/creatures along the way. For a child that has created an alternative reality (in a world we cannot reach) where she takes care of her 'shadow' family, again it seemed fitting.

The need for Dorothy to follow the Yellow Brick Road also managed to bring back memories which now bring a wry smile to my face.  At one point in time, one of the most challenging outings we could undertake (and only undertaken if absolutely necessary) was to a nearby shopping centre where the connecting pathways between the shops were tiled with geometric pavers in various colours/patterns.  The Dancing Queen would only walk on certain colours and if anyone had the audacity to get in the way of her walking in a completely straight line along one particular colour, then we had a problem.  Sometimes it would take us 20 to 30 minutes to walk to our destination at the other end of the mall and more often than not by the time we got there we were in meltdown mode. The other reason why this particular destination was so nightmarish from our point of view was that it had way too many exit points.  Meltdowns would often be followed by the dire need to escape, with the Dancing Queen attempting to make a mad dash out of the first available portal.  In most other shopping centres I had learnt to make it to 5 minutes before panicking wildly.  But with this one, the panic set in almost instantaneously.  We now live in a place with very few shopping malls.

Today however I told her that if she gets nervous, she could always click her red sparkle shoes and say "there is no place like home" and just imagine she is back somewhere safe.