The Broken Shell

                                        

Summertime in Florida would not be complete without trips to the ocean, and this summer we’re getting in our share of beach time.  These days, one of Ben’s favorite things to do at the beach is to collect shells.  Ben is, by nature, a collector, and the shoreline provides an endless (free!) supply of collection material.

From the moment that we arrive in the parking lot, Ben has his bucket ready, and he’s stooping down to pick shells practically from the moment he steps out of the car.  It’s as if he doesn’t want to miss any prospects or leave any behind. 

As we pick our way towards the water’s edge, he stops every few feet to plunk another one into his bucket as I prod him on. 

After scouting out a good spot in the sand, Ben waits impatiently while I set up camp, spray him down with sunscreen, and then he’s off racing towards the waves, bucket in hand.  He looks back to make sure I’m coming, and I know he’s ready for his beach walk.

We walk along quietly, taking our time as we search for our shells.  I carefully scrutinize each shell before selecting my favorites to keep.  I like the pinks and the blues, or the ones with the mother-of-pearl sheen.  Occasionally I’ll find an olive to add to the collection.  I keep my eyes peeled for a shark’s tooth, but I’ve yet to find one.

Ben, however, has a different approach to shell collection.

A Case for Bringing Back Summer

The following is an excerpt written by an autism mom named Kristine Barnett, from her book “The Spark”:

“For the past year and a half, every moment that Jake had been awake had been about autism:  drills and therapy and pattern recognition to work on his lowest skills.  In all of this, we had forgotten something vitally essential childhood.  Typical childhood experiences- like watching your cold fingers wrinkle up under a sprinkler on the first superhot day of the year- are important for everyone, not just typical kids.  Every family needs to have special traditions that celebrate who they are and what matters to them.  I knew from my own days growing up that such traditions don’t have to be a big deal to be meaningful.” 

As summer officially kicks off in full swing, children celebrate the end of school year and the beginning of long summer days filled with play and relaxation.  However, for children with autism, along with other children with disabilities or just struggling learners, school most likely will not end in the summer.  Many children will take part in Extended School Year summer programs geared towards helping them retain their academic skills and continue to develop their social skills.

While as an educator, I know the research about the “summer slide” better than most.  In case you haven’t heard of the term, the summer slide refers to the phenomenon in which students will lose academic ground over the summer and enter the next school year even further behind then when they left in May.  This is why many schools offer summer programs and services that are geared towards stopping this summer slide.  I believe that these programs have merit, and I support any parent who chooses to enroll their children.  However, I have chosen not to enroll Ben in these summer programs, and here’s why.

While I believe in high academic standards, I also equally believe that Ben needs time to be a kid.  The fact that he has autism does not make this need any less real. 

Ben deserves time to play on the beach, run through the sprinkler in our front lawn, throw water balloons, and paint at his art table for hours if he feels like it.  He deserves trips to the movie theater, to the pool with his friends, and outside to catch the ice cream truck as it slowly drives down our street.

I think it is easy to discount the importance of allowing a child with special needs unstructured time when the overpowering message is that every moment of therapy is vitally important.  And while it makes logical sense that filling every moment possible with targeted, systematic, therapeutic work will help to close the developmental gap, my gut tells me that sometimes we have to slow down in order to leap forward. 

Lessons I Learned From Dad…

Ben and his Papa at one of their favorite places, the beach.

My dad may not be a tall man, but he is larger-than-life.  His laughter and smile can light up a room.  His boundless energy and zest for adventure allow him to run circles around much younger men (sometimes literally).  While I may not have inherited my dad’s adventurous spirit, there are many other parts of him that I see inside myself.

My dad is an explorer.  He cannot stay in one place for too long, so it’s only natural that our family traveled a lot (and we still do).  Because of this, I have always loved to visit new places.  Some people like to accumulate material items, but I prefer to save my money for family experiences that we will always remember.  I have passed this love of travel on to my son.  Children on the autism spectrum like routine and predictability in their lives, but Ben seems to make an exception when it comes to going to new places.  He is always up for an adventure, even if it’s going to a “new McDonalds”.  Every morning he asks, “What are we going to do today?”  He has flown airplanes since before he could crawl, so he has always known that new places hold excitement and, often, people he loves.

My dad is a very hard worker.  When I was a little girl, he supported our family with three jobs, which included washing windows.  Now he owns two businesses in two different cities.  I learned from this example and, as a result, I’ve never been afraid to roll up my sleeves and get to work.  I tackle new projects head-on, which includes helping find the best therapies and supports for my son.  When Ben was first diagnosed with autism, I spent very little time mourning the label.  Instead, I got busy researching and learning all that I could about how to help him.  Along with this, my dad knows how to have fun and enjoy life.  He is a loving and giving person who always puts God first, and I aspire to approach all people and situations with that same loving spirit.

Finally, my dad, along with my mom, taught me what it means to be a good spouse and parent.  My parents aren’t perfect, but as I watched their marriage through childhood into adulthood, I witnessed two people who were committed to loving and caring for each other.  My parents always showed their affection in front of my brother and me, and even though it embarrassed us at the time, we saw two parents who still loved each other very much.  They made decisions together, and even though they would sometimes disagree, they would always work it through.  My dad has always been a strong supporter in my life.  I am the proudest when I know that I have made him proud.  And I have never seen him happier than he has been these past five years as Ben’s Papa.  Ben’s diagnosis didn’t change him in my Dad’s eyes at all. 

Ben is blessed to have a father and two grandfathers who love him very much. He is surrounded with kind and loving men who always make time to play trains, fish, camp, take him to the park, or do whatever he would like to do.  Who can ask for more than that? 

Viewing the World Through Sensory Lenses

“For most of us, the delicate interaction between the brain and body known as sensory integration is nothing short of marvelous.  It allows us to move purposefully through the world without being driven to distraction by the cacophony of sensory experience that bombards us each moment we are awake.”

 -“The Sensory Sensitive Child”

             Today we were once again at the pool, Ben’s new favorite hangout spot.  The pool was getting quite crowded on this Saturday afternoon, but Ben didn’t seem to mind.  He was happily floating on his new shark noodle in the shallow end of the water, when I noticed a mother and her young son entering on the steps.  I had seen this particular boy at the pool before, always sitting off to the side near the chairs while his siblings swam, splashed and had fun.  He had attracted my curiosity then because he hadn’t seemed the slightest bit interested in the water.  He seemed more than content to play with his dinosaurs the entire hour.  But today, he was glued to his mother’s hip, clinging onto her for dear life, as she determinedly plunged them both into the water.  And then the screams began.  The boy was clearly doing everything in his power to make it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with the water.  I turned my attention back to Ben as the wails continued.  I politely ignored this for the next several minutes, but when the plaintive cries did not subside, curiosity got the better of me.  As Ben swam close to the mother and son, I gave the mom my most understanding smile and told her confidingly, “My son used to cry in the water, too.  He still hates to get his face wet.”  Her expression visibly changed to relief and she let out a huge exhale.

            “I just don’t understand it,” she gushed.  “His brother and sister swim like fish.  He’s almost three years old, and I can’t let him sit by the side of the pool forever.” 

            I hesitated, knowing it would sound like an odd question, but I plunged ahead anyway. “Can I ask you something?  Does he like to swing when you take him to the park?” 

            “Why, no, he doesn’t” she said with a look of utter disbelief.  “He never has liked swings.  How could you have possibly known that?” 

            “Well,” I said carefully, “It may be a sensory issue.  He may not like the sensation of floating and flying through the air, when his feet leave the ground.  I noticed he was much more comfortable on the steps where he feet touched the bottom and wasn’t crying nearly as hard.” 

            The more we talked, the more this Mom opened up.  I was happy that I was able to pass on a few ideas to her, because I know the feeling all too well.  I know how it feels to be baffled by your child’s behavior.  Watching her little boy in the pool reminded me of my early days with Ben.    

            Ben’s behavior was always somewhat of a mystery to me, even from the beginning.   I remember the day after Ben was born, he cried loudly and inconsolably for what seemed like hours.  I remember rocking him back and forth while wondering if I was ready to be a mother.  The nurses would whisk in and out of the room, showing me how to swaddle him and jiggle him in just the right way, which helped for a while, but soon enough, the crying would start again.  The first few months of Ben’s life passed in a hazy blur of rocking, swaddling, and cuddling him close.  I frantically searched the baby books for advice, and I reassured myself in the fact that all babies cry.  Still, I sensed that there was something I was missing.  Sometimes Ben would screw his little eyes closed, as if the outside world was just too much for him. 

            Fast forward to his third birthday.  By then, Ben loved Thomas the Train, as many little boys do at that age.  We decided to throw him a big party with all of his buddies from school.  We rented out the community clubhouse and carted all of his train toys into their great room.  We hung Thomas balloons from the ceiling, strung brightly colored streamers from the walls, and filled the room with loud, upbeat train music. Finally, the big moment arrived.  All his friends where there, ready to celebrate.  It was time for Ben to make his grand entrance.   I walked Ben into the room while everyone eagerly leaned in to catch his reaction, video cameras glued to his face to capture the moment.  We all watched in disbelief as he studied the room, his normally boisterous personality suddenly very subdued.  Then, he quietly snuck over into a corner, slumping down on his Thomas chair, as silent tears began to pour down his face.  My dad joked he was crying tears of happiness, but the worried feeling inside me grew. 

            Everyday tasks were often very difficult for Ben.  On nights when we had to wash his hair (a task I always gave to my husband because I just could not bear it), I feared the neighbors would think we were torturing our child because of the heart-wrenching screams.  “No hair!” he would beg nightly at bath time, for fear that this would be the night when we would force this upon him.  Most nights I would let him off the hook, because I could not handle the emotional toll of the ordeal.  The same held true for clipping his nails and cutting his hair.  I would watch the other children at the "Little Tykes" hair salon sitting so still for the stylist, while my child twisted his body like a contortionist in a heroic attempt to escape the race car chair.  I felt like an accomplice as I held his head in a deadlock so the stylist could finish the job.  We would bribe him with several lollipops to get through.  I would wonder why it always had to be such a battle.

            And then there was the time I had to take him to the eye doctor.  The doctor needed to dilate his eyes.  After pleading with him to open his eyes, just a little, I finally had to sit in the chair myself and restrain my little guy so the doctor could finish the job as he thrashed and screamed.  Weeks later, Ben would still talk about how Mommy held him tight at the doctor’s office, and the guilt inside me grew a little more.

            Mealtimes were especially challenging.  There were only certain foods that Ben would eat, and he wanted the same foods every single day.  Then, for no apparent reason, he would refuse to eat them anymore.  Like the day he stopped eating bananas, then mandarin oranges. My husband and I knew better than to make mealtime a battle, but I still felt like a horrible mother because there was little variety in his diet.  I had always sworn that my child would never know the taste of fast food, but McDonalds was slowly becoming the dinner of choice, especially on busy nights.  

            And then there was the way he would smell everything and everyone.  He was forever carrying around his favorite stuffed bear, holding its well-worn paw to his nose.  Anytime we would go somewhere new and different, he would loudly ask, “What’s that smell like?’  Sometimes he would walk up to strangers and sniff their clothes.  Odder still, at four years old, the teacher at school was reporting that he was putting everything in his mouth.   Things like Easter grass from the sensory bin.  Then, I watched one day during karate class as he bent down and licked the karate mat.  What was going on with my child?

            Luckily it was during this time when a colleague happened to be at a teacher training with me one afternoon, and as we were catching up, we were surprised to discover that we were both concerned about our sons, who are roughly the same age.  She shared with me that her son had started seeing an occupational therapist named Jen, and that this therapist was offering a free parent workshop if I wanted to come and learn more.  She said that Jen really “got” her kid.  Now, being in the school system, I’m familiar with OTs, but I had mostly thought of them as people who worked with kids who had physical disabilities or severe gross motor and fine motor issues.  With some trepidation, I decided to go check this place out.

            When I arrived at the sensory clinic, the woman behind the counter was barefoot and wore a tie-dyed shirt.  I quickly learned she was also the owner.  Jen immediately captivated me as she opened my mind to the sensory world.  I’ve always loved to learn new things, and for the next hour, I soaked up everything that I could.  This was the beginning of my journey into understanding sensory integration.

            I learned from Jen that we experience the world through our seven (yes seven) senses.  We all have sensory needs that are different for each person. Some people need their morning cup of coffee to get them going.  Some people need a shower in the morning to rejuvenate them at the beginning of their day.  Some need it completely quiet when they’re working, while others prefer background music.  Some, like me, don’t feel right if they don’t have “their” seat in the conference room or “their” exercise equipment at the gym.   However, most of us can manage our sensory needs without much issue.  Our brain blocks out the irrelevant sensory information before it ever reaches our awareness level, noises like the hum of the air conditioner or the cars driving by outside.  Without this “pruning” function of the brain, we would be incapable of getting through the day.  Our world would be too overwhelming, distracting, and we would cower and hide from it all. 

            For a child with sensory processing disorder, like my son, the pruning function isn’t working correctly, and things that we take for granted are extremely challenging for them.  Jen compares this sensory malfunction to a radio that either is playing to loudly or too softly.  Every sensation is amplified, from the buzzing of a light to the painfully scratchy sensation of a t-shirt tag to the noxious odor of someone’s fish sandwich at the next table over at the restaurant.  To complicate matters, everyone experiences sensory input in different ways.  The more Jen talked, the more the light bulbs flashed in my brain.  This is why Ben covers his ears every time the toilet flushes and why he hates to get his face wet in the shower.  I was hooked and eager to learn more. 

            Over time, I learned that my son is mainly a sensory seeker.  He craves sensory input.  This is why he runs his fingers alongside the walls in the hallway of school as his class walks.  This is why he loves the feeling of his whole body in the sand and the squishy feel of mud between his toes.  This is why he needs time every day, often multiple times a day, to swing, jump, and crash into mats.

           With Jen’s help, along with his OT at school, we created a sensory diet for Ben.  This is a daily plan that includes opportunities throughout the day to meet his sensory needs.   Here’s some examples of Ben's unique sensory makeup, as viewed through the lens of the seven senses:

The Heart of a Meltdown

“Did you know that meltdowns are involuntary acts most often caused by overstimulation and are outside the control of the person in question?  Meltdowns should not be confused with tantrums, which are willful acts meant to manipulate.”  -Lost and Tired (www.lostandtired.com)

My son has a wonderful, sunny disposition.  He has a kind and caring heart.  He has an unadulterated joy that emanates from him as he dances through life.  He has a vivid imagination and he joyfully accepts the revolving role as the main character of his fantasy world every single day.  It is captivating to watch.  However, he also weathers many emotional storms that can quickly dampen that sunny personality.  Tears flow easily with Ben, often for seemingly no reason.  But, make no mistake, there is always a reason.  He cries when life becomes overwhelming.  He when cries too much is going on around him and he just can’t handle it any more.   He cries when plans change and things that he expected and needed to happen don’t happen.  Normally his tears come and go quickly.  Ben has learned to recognize his feelings.  When he starts to become sad or upset, he knows how take action and calm down. However, there are times when disappointment is too great, or when his sensory systems overwhelm him, and a meltdown occurs.  In those moments when my son’s body succumbs to his emotions, I try to do everything I can as a parent to help him.  I try to calm, distract, and soothe.  I give him a safe space to work through his feelings.  At the end of an episode, I am exhausted and relieved that the ordeal is over.  It is human nature to view the world through our own perspective, but the other day I had the rare opportunity to view the world through Ben’s.

A Kindergarten Dream Come True

           Sending a child to kindergarten is a huge milestone, as any parent who's been there will tell you.  When the big day finally arrives, we snap pictures of our child in their brand new clothes, backpack in tow, as they stand with barely-contained excitement outside the classroom door.  Our heart tugs as they walk away from us through that classroom door, looking much too small to be sent off into this big and scary world. We hover a few extra minutes, peeking through the window, knowing that once we walk away we will have to admit to ourselves that our baby has just taken another yet step on the path to adulthood.   Leaving our child in that teacher’s hands for the first time is a really big deal. 

10 Ways I Parent Differently Because My Child Is Autistic

A few days ago, I was talking with a couple of colleagues at school.  One of them teaches a class with an autistic little girl, and she was thrilled because the girl actually came up to her and tattled on another child.  She was just so happy to see her engaging in conversation and speaking up for herself.  This led us into a conversation about how we approach autistic children differently from neurotypical children.  By the way, when I use the word neurotypical, this simply means people that are not on the autism spectrum.

This led my colleague to ask a question that I think many are wondering but are afraid to ask, “What is it like to raise an autistic child?” I thought I might try to answer her question here.  Please know that I can only speak for my own autism parenting experience, because each family has its own unique set of circumstances.  There is a saying in the autism community that if you have met one autistic person, you have met one autistic person.  I know that many children on the spectrum display much more severe behaviors than what we deal with on a daily basis. 

So, with that disclaimer, I give you…

10 Ways I Parent Differently Because My Child Is Autistic

  1)   I let my kid jump on the bed…

…or at least I did before we bought him a trampoline.  I learned when Ben was very young that he needs to move- all the time.  On this same vein, I never take away his physical outlets as a consequence.  Ben has sensory needs that need to be met.  If left unchecked (as in if he sits too long without a motion break), he can become overstimulated, anxious, or dysregulated, which can lead to intense emotions.  Jumping helps.  So does crashing into a mat.  So does swinging.  And yes, we have an indoor swing in the playroom for this very purpose.  Many neurotypical children enjoy swinging, jumping, and crashing.  For Ben, it is a necessary as eating, breathing, and sleeping. 

  2)   I pack him the same lunch every day

Yes, I want my child to have variety in his diet as much as the next parent, and we do encourage him to try new foods as much as possible.  However, there are only a limited number of foods that Ben will eat.  Part of this is because he is bothered by foods with texture.  Part of this is because he likes routine and consistency.  This is why he requests the same cereal every morning when he gets his breakfast at school. God bless the cafeteria ladies who save him back his favorite flavor of juice when they are running low. This is also why I pack him essentially the same lunch every day.  We are working on the food thing as best we can but it is not easy, so yes, we pick our battles.

  3)   I discipline differently than most parents

Early on, I learned the difference between a tantrum and a meltdown.  A tantrum happens when a child decides to throw a fit to get his way.  You can spot a tantrum because a child is watching for your reaction and is in control of the tantrum.  The child can stop a tantrum at any time.  A meltdown occurs when a child becomes overwhelmed by sensory input or emotionally dysregulated.  A meltdown is much more emotionally intense than a tantrum, and once a child reaches a full-fledged meltdown, they are no longer in control.  The meltdown is just as scary or more for the child than it is for those watching it happen.  So, yes, my husband and I have rules and consequences for my son, and we try to be very, very clear about our expectations.  Our son’s behavior is almost never a result to defiance but rather presents itself as an emotional outburst (often tears) as a result of frustration sensory overload, or an unexpected change in routine.  Therefore, while we give consequences, we are very, very gentle with him and try to give him tools to handle his big emotions.  When his emotions ramp up, then I have to make myself very, very calm.  Which leads me to…

  4)   I spend most of my money on squishy balls and play-doh

Now I know that some of you are thinking that your kids like these things too, but for my kid, they are a VERY big deal.  One of the strategies that we have taught Ben for dealing with his emotions is to squeeze a squishy ball.  He has a huge collection of them for this very purpose, and heaven forbid one pops, rips, or breaks.  We have social stories ready for this very purpose (Sometimes our toys break…)

Play-doh is another necessary tool.  It builds his hand strength, which helps him with fine motor tasks like writing.  One of his favorite things to do is open a brand new container of play-doh and inhale its unique smell.  Recently we learned to make play-doh using Kool-Aid and he has been in heaven experimenting with different scent combinations.

  5)   My life feels like one big movie script

Many children on the spectrum who are verbal like Ben engage in something called echoalia.  This means that they parrot back phrases that they hear others say.  Sometimes they may repeat a word or phrase right after the speaker says it, but in Ben’s case it is often stored away in his memory for later.  Often called scripting, Ben can memorize lines from his favorite books and movies and uses them during conversations and playtime.  I know that his teachers think that he has a vivid imagination (which he does), but they probably don’t realize just how often he is channeling one of his scripts.  For example, when he says “We regret to inform you that chapter three was a dream”, I know he’s quoting “Bad Kitty Gets a Bath”, or when he pretends to hack up a hairball in class (sorry Mrs. B), he’s acting out a scene from a chapter in “Bad Kitty School Days”.  Often he will use lines from these scripts in conversations, which he did tonight when he called Daddy back upstairs after bedtime and asked, “What about goodnight kisses?” in a perfect Agnes voice from the movie Despicable Me (Daddy did forget the kiss, and I knew Ben would be calling for it).  Ben has been scripting for a very long time.  In fact, I remember making a “cheat sheet” of Ben’s words and phrase for my parents (who live out of town) one summer when they came to watch him for a few days. 

  6)   We live our life by rituals and routines

Every parent knows the importance of having consistency and routine in their child’s life, but for Ben this predictability is his rock in what can be a very chaotic and confusing world.  I am reminded of this any time I deviate even slightly from our rituals.  Bedtime is a great example.  I’ve never taught him to do this, but I swear my kid can tell time.  If I try to start the routine a few minutes before the regular time, he’ll point to the clock and protest, “It’s too early!”  After teeth, books, and a story of what’s happening tomorrow (our social story which prepares him for the events of the next day) and prayers, I say the same phrase, “Mommy will be on Mommy’s bed.  Ben will be on Ben’s bed.  Have a good night sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”  There’s almost something sacred about our ritual.  He needs it to feel centered and secure.

  7)   I celebrate the little things and find joy in ordinary moments

Most parents take for granted that their child will walk, talk, wave “bye-bye”, say “I love you,” ride a bike…  For some parents, each of these milestones is a long time coming, if ever.  So I try to never, ever, take for granted the progress that Ben makes.  Like the first time he had a real conversation with another person.  Or the time he started a game of hide-and-seek with some kids at the playground.  Or the moment when he snuggled up to me in the chair and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek .  These moments take my breath away. 

  8)   I let my kid have an iPad

      Yes, I said it.  My kid has had an Ipad since he could barely walk.  I know that some view this as indulgent but I have seen Ben benefit from the programs it offers.  We limit the amount of time he uses it, and lately he hasn’t even asked for it at home in the evenings because he is busy with art projects or checking on his trains. However, I do rely on it when we have to wait for extended periods of time at the doctor’s office or if we take a long car ride to a therapy session.  And, on the days when he has to stay a long time in the after school program, it gives him something to share with the other kids.  The coolness factor certainly doesn’t hurt.

  9) I honor my child’s requests whenever possible

      When Ben communicates to me that something is too much for him, then I listen because I’ve seen what can happen when I fail to heed his warning.  Like the time I kept him in a dark theater when he was petrified of the huge dragon puppet and then wouldn’t go into another dark place for months.  So if Ben doesn’t want to go on a ride at Disney, I listen and honor that request.  This doesn’t mean that he always gets his way.  If his safety is at risk or if there are existing plans that cannot be altered, he does have to learn to deal.  But, if I’m able to give him choices, I always do.  And if his request is a reasonable one that I can honor, I always will, because I want him to know that he can always communicate his needs to me and that they will be heard and respected

  10) I compare my kid to my kid

      Another thing I stopped doing very early is worrying about what my friend’s kid on Facebook is able to do that my kid can’t.  I’ve learned it’s much more productive to measure Ben’s progress against himself.  And while this doesn’t mean that I don’t have goals and expectations for him, I’m not going to stress if he’s not making the most soccer goals or if he doesn’t make captain of the debate team.  If he gets those things, it’s definitely a bonus, but I’m cheering for the progress he’s making, because he always gets there in his own time.

…and, in case you were wondering, here are ….

          
10 Things I Expect of my Autistic Child

  1)   I expect my child to have manners

      This includes everything from saying “please” and “thank you” when he receives an item to waiting for his turn to talk in a conversation.  We’re still working on these things but he is getting there.

  2)   I expect my child to pull his own weight

Ben is responsible for picking up his toys, doing his chores, which include taking in and out the trash and feeding the dogs.  He carries his dishes to the sink and puts his clothes in the hamper.  Ben is my helper at school and often runs errands with me at the end of the day.  Heavy work is a form of occupational therapy and helps with keep him centered.  Plus, it’s great for character building!

  3)   I expect my son to show kindness others…

…and I hope that the world will show kindness to him in return.  Ben is one of the most loving people that I know.

  4)   I expect my son to work hard and do his personal best

      Life can be extremely frustrating for him because it does not cater to his style of learning, but this is not an excuse to give up.  Every day is a lesson in perseverance and problem solving.  When his Legos break or he can’t get the glue bottle to work or the lid off a container, I expect him to find strategies to deal with this, even if it’s as simple as asking for help.  This does not mean that I am going to push him to his frustration point.  This also does not mean that I expect him to act like every other child.  My job is to provide him the supports that he needs to be successful, and then to gradually take these supports away when he is ready, which leads to…

  5)   I expect him to learn independence

I have full confidence that there will come a day when my son will be a successful, contributing member of society. I remind myself on a daily basis that, even though it takes longer, I have to let him learn to do things on his own.  Whether it’s styling his own hair or giving himself a shower, he’s slowly learning the skills it takes to be an independent little man.  And I could not be prouder.