The Family Room

No Restroom for the Weary

Today was one of those days that felt like transition after transition, interspersed with brief moments of calm. It was probably that Isaac isn't feeling 100 percent yet after a week-long bout with some sort of respiratory virus. And when he's tired, he's edgy. And when he's edgy, he refuses to go to the potty. And when that happens, everything goes sideways.

Today we decided to escape the city and drive about an hour south for a little fresh air. We had lunch at the Palo Alto Creamery, a venerable institution serving burgers and fries to Silicon Valley residents for, well, a very long time. And, voila, refusal to go after. Loud refusal. Attention-grabbing refusal. "Why-don't-we-leave-and-try-later?" refusal.

So, okay, fine, we're trying not to make a tug-of-war out of this. For one thing, it's no fun. For another, it's way too Freudian. So we gave up and took a walk outside, where we passed Waterworks, an incredibly elegant and expensive store selling, what else--incredibly elegant and expensive bathroom fixtures. Isaac nearly yanked my arm off in his excitement, so in we went. We walked past model after gorgeous model of bathrooms that I could spend a lifetime in: huge, cozy ceramic tubs, sculpted sinks, plush towels, gorgeous tile, and yes--the finest in lavatory design.

Immediately it became evident that Isaac thought these floor models were there for his personal use. Luckily, I thought fast. "Isaac, these potties don't really work. They're just, uh, pretend." (As the absurdity of that remark hit me, I realized that it was now inevitable: I was destined to blog about this. How meta is that?) We dashed to the counter and in my most charming harried mother voice, I asked if we could use their facilities. The woman behind the counter glanced at me, glanced down at Isaac, and suggested we try across the street at the Creamery--the very bathroom Isaac had just loudly rejected out of hand.

Crap.

Isaac looked a bit more urgent now, and yanked me back to the floor models for another try. On the way, we ran into another saleswoman, who asked if we needed any help. "Um yes," I asked, all harried mommy charm again, "Do you happen to have a public restroom?" (Pleading look at child). "Certainly," she said crisply and led us to the back, where, sure enough, there was a sparkling-clean, quiet-yet-understated restroom. Mission accomplished.

On the way out the door, Isaac glanced back into the store window. "Lots of potties!" he exclaimed, grinning at us.

Notes From "Support For Families" Conference

Yesterday I went to the Support for Families of Children with Disabilities 2007 Information & Resource Conference. It amazes me what this group, which seems to be run on about five dollars and sheer will, can pull off. They ran 14 workshops in two tracks, ranging from "Adaptive Sports" to "Planning for Inclusive Transitions Across School Levels" to "Legal Rights of Public School Students with Disabilities." I chose two subjects that are near and dear to my heart these days: "Food & Eating Issues for Children with Autism" and "Toilet Training Children with Special Needs," the latter of which was run by Melissa Willa of Gateway Learning Group. Both sessions took a behavioral approach, and I could again see how these new ways of conducting ABA can open up whole worlds for children: a new degree of independence, the tolerance for--even interest in--new types of foods. The initial approach in these specific instances may be more adult led, but the consequences ultimately empower the kids to make a broader range of choices for themselves over time. So again that difficult balance between ABA and Floortime, between the child's agenda and the therapist's.

Both sessions reminded me that too often we rush into our kids' programs without really getting enough of the context behind what our providers plan to do. As a result, things that you think of as kind of optional (switching reinforcers, or forgetting to tell your school what you're doing at home) can have an impact and stretch out the learning process. And things that you slowly begin to disagree with (for example, the degree to which your child is pushed in a particular session), can become a real source of tension. So it was helpful to have an opportunity to sit down and start from the very beginning.

I can't possibly do justice to each session, but I do have one suggestion, and it's pretty simple. Even if you do team meetings already, try to find some non-therapy, non-IEP time to talk to your providers individually, even for a few minutes, so you can discuss what's on your mind and start to work it into your child's program. I realized yesterday that I had been worrying about Isaac's somewhat limited food repertoire, but in the chaos of everything else I wasn't even aware of it until I saw this class on the agenda. So now I'll approach his case manager to talk about it, and probably even add it to the IEP. (Tip: you CAN add eating and potty objectives to your child's IEP...I didn't realize that before).

Last thing, since I'm apparently on an advice kick today: take a breath. Not every minute of our lives should be a learning opportunity, or a heroically therapeutic moment. Autism may be a communication disorder, but there's plenty of communication in stillness, and silence, too. (Not to mention the guilty pleasure of sharing a pizza while you watch "Dancing with The Stars" together.)

For a copy of Melissa's presentation on toilet training, click here: Download toilet_training_presentation.pdf

Potty Training, Part Deux

Several months ago, we began the bizarre and weirdly emotional process of potty training our son. We bought pull-ups, we collected whimsical potty books, we got detailed instructions and excel spreadsheets from our ABA team (for data collection) and a plastic bucket (for...). We loaded up on fun DVDs he can watch during potty sessions. He learned the steps quickly: he loved sitting on the potty, loved flushing, loved the ritual of washing and drying his hands, even loved his potty seat, proudly carrying it around the house, but...no luck.

Fast-forward a few months (okay, several months) and we are being politely but firmly encouraged to try this again. Again we have the spreadsheets, the paraphernalia, and on Saturday I went to buy my boy his very first set of big kid underpants. And I have to tell you, I felt a little emotional standing there at the display. Do I get colors? White? Dinosaurs? Superman? (In the interest of protecting whatever shred of privacy is left at this point, I leave that to your imagination, dear reader.)

During his bath that night, he played with a green plastic dolphin, filling it with water and letting the water run out into the tub. Then he looked up at me and said: "The dolphin has to go pee-pee," and emptied it into the tub again, giggling. Yesterday, Jesse came home to a whole potty convention in our house, including one ABA tutor, one case manager, our nanny and, of course, the life of the party himself, who was looking a little grumpy by this point. Then this morning, as soon as he woke up, he demanded to sit on the potty again, where he ate a banana, drank a glass of milk, and happily watched an episode and a half of Harold and the Purple Crayon (delaying my shower and causing a Very Bad Hair Day). And I suddenly realized: the bathroom has become his new office. And I can't help but wonder: how did we do this stuff before there were specialists, and Microsoft Excel, and DVDs and cheese crackers and--honestly--does it really take a village to potty train a child?