The Invitation

A special treat: this post was written by my wife.

It’s an invitation to play.

C offers me one of two cars he has in his hands. “Mommy plays black car." Black car and red car cruise along the banister and crash!

We smile and do it again.

A day later, C comes up to me with two boats, one green, one orange. He hands me the orange one. "Mommy’s boat.” It takes me a second because I’m not used to this. I’m on the phone. I hang up and we sail our boats around the coffee table.

Then it hits me: orange is my favorite color. We talk about favorite colors.

I am suddenly aware of how far C has come: less that a year ago, he just pushed vehicles back and forth; today we’re pretending to sail boats at the beach.

Our interactions are short and simple, but they happen. They are less impressive — but far more important — than memorized lists of spelled words and counting backward.

C wants to play with his Mommy, he laughs with Daddy. He asks to get into M's crib and sit with him. Last night C couldn’t sleep so he came into our bed. We stared at each other for a long time. This is also new.

I said, “I love you more than one hundred, C.” He smiled.

Today at lunch we sat across the table from each other, just the two of us.

He mumbled, “Mommy I love you more than one hundred.” I jumped in with an eager, "Well I love you more than two hundred! More than three hundred!“

He was impressed. There was a long pause.

“I love Mommy more than four hundred.”

This kid keeps upping the ante.

And he keeps winning.

The Weekend in Three Pictures

The signs of autism persist — as of course they will — but we continue to delight in many of them, including C's little 'arrangements.'

Unlike his twin, C doesn't find joy in a local carnival. Nonetheless, I'm grateful he knows how to cope, finding his own little island of peace and quiet even in the most overwhelming situations.

And when he's at home or somewhere else where he feels comfortable, C is one of the happiest people I've ever known.

This is an amazing journey.

Making it Count

A little fun combining C's love of organizing, counting, and apricots.

Sight Reading

Yesterday we witnessed something amazing: C is able to sight-read some words, and then match them to images. (This is the first time C has done this exercise with his ABA therapist; ironically, the point of the exercise was to help him with fine motor skill such as holding paper, not reading.) These are words C likes to spell, so he's already familiar with them. Nonetheless, he's seeing the words out of context and attaching meaning to them. In other words, pre-reading.

I know that when I tell people about this, some of them will think, "Well, there's more proof he's smart and maybe just a little unusual." It can be frustrating having to constantly explain that, yes, my son has some abilities that are beyond his 3.25 years of age, but in other areas he has severe deficits. People tend to assume average to better-than-average cognitive abilities mean there are no serious problems.

Nonetheless, I am thrilled with this development: it is heartening to know that despite the deficits, he has a great brain hard at work.

Dancing Hands

Evincing a common autism trait, my son's hands are always on the move, fingers bending or stiffening, balled up or widely splayed, seemingly living a life of their own.

When he's excited, he flattens his hands and pats downward on some invisible surface. When I walk with him, it's as though the hand he's offered me enjoys the quiet comfort of being clutched in my own. Even at rest his fingers strike the pose of those about to tickle ivories, or they find themselves holding something — anything — just to keep themselves occupied.

Of the outward signs of autism I've come to worry about, these dancing hands and their endless explorations do not bother me so much. They seem to reflect all the curiosity and energy and joy that characterize C himself.

These hands dance because of autism.

I'm coming to develop an unexpected gratitude for these small gifts bestowed upon us when it seems as though others have been taken away.