 Have you guys heard of goally, yet? It's this great little device that allows you and your child to track their routines, behaviors and, most importantly, rewards. We've been trying this out for a few weeks now, and we've had some great success. Kate's goally reminds her to brush her teeth, eat breakfast, clean her room etc and for every completed task she earns points. This is hugely motivating for Kate. The language is simple, and there are visuals to help explain what's next. The tasks in Kate's daily routine are also timed. It's like an executive functioning dream come true! Obviously, goally was founded by a parent who knows, if you know what I mean. Also, I am pretty sure they are having a huge summer sale right now. Check them out here and tell them I sent you. Happy Shopping!
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 It used to be easier. Even last year, when she went to Boston to take part in a study about girls with autism, she didn’t really ask about her Autism. She just generally believed, as do the rest of us, that autism made her amazing. You could ask her for an explanation and she would usually launch into a rather disjointed but incredibly adorable speech about her awesome, sparkly brain.
This week things changed for her. I am not sure when, or why, but all of the sudden, she wants to know some serious detail about what autism means for her. So then, what shall I say? Kate’s expressive language is far stronger than her receptive language, so while she can talk your ear off, she doesn’t always comprehend your message. You can ask an expert about the finer details but, for Kate, I imagine it’s a lot like this: Kate hears the words you say and then each of those words goes into a different compartment in her brain. Then, she must access those words and put them in an order that makes sense. This is my best guess. I could be way off, but for now, this is how I imagine it. Somedays, she can organize those words quickly but on other days, when she is all out of tokens, as we say, she has a much harder time making sense of everything. Now, on top of this communication issue, there are a number of other things that make up Kate’s version of autism. She’s excessively overconfident, she has little concept of her body in space, she knows no strangers (which can be terrifying as I’ve often said) and she has low tone, or very little muscle tone which makes her pretty uncoordinated, but only in the cutest way possible. Sure, there are other things that I could mention but that’s enough for now. You get the idea. Right? In order to explain her autism to her, I would have to explain to her why things are often confusing and frustrating. And, while she has every right to know, she isn’t quite able to fully understand yet, so we end up in a more confusing state than when we began. So, you can see how this isn’t easy. She has questions, and rightly so. I worry that I don’t have the answers, because the answers are really all inside her fascinating brain. I hope she can tell me someday, but for now she will have to do with my rudimentary explanations. How do you tell someone that all the things that make life so hard to navigate are the very same things that make them so amazing?  I know I share intimate details on this blog, which might lead you to believe I have some level of confidence, but the truth is, I suffer from anxiety and depression and I take medication daily.
This won’t shock anyone that knows me. But, part of my problem is the insistent need to overshare. Maybe that’s why you like me. Maybe that’s why I make you uncomfortable. If you don’t suffer from anxiety, you may not understand, but I’m guessing, if you read this blog, you have some knowledge in this area. Isn’t everyone a fucking basketcase, in one way or another? Why am I telling you this? Just another example of oversharing? Maybe. A warning that what I write is either fueled by anxiety, depression or, if I’m lucky, a mid-level red, costing less than $15. Relax! I love to write on caffeine, too. I recently made a list in my journal of all the things that cause me anxiety/depression (and what,EVEN, is the fucking difference?) Here it is, in NO particular order:
I could go on and on, and get into some serious minute detail, but I’ll spare you that shit. You have your own worries I’m sure. I take pills for my blood pressure, too. It’s as bad as my anxiety/depression insofar as it makes my day more difficult than it should be. So there it is; I take three pills every morning. I wish I didn’t, but if wishes were fishes… to steal a phrase. So to my workout...which is the point of this post. Christ, I can ramble. I’ve started Working Out, as you may know. Maybe it makes you roll your eyes. I visit CrossFit about four times a week. I don’t love it, because that’s stupid. That shit hurts and makes me sore and nauseous, among other things. I am loving the people, for sure, but the workout...it’s hard and it hurts. I can’t do most of it and spend my workout scaling everything back to a manageable movement. I’m always last. I’m always slowest. And, for the most part, I’m always confused. But there is something that makes me want more. Something that makes me look forward to my next visit. That’s so strange to say. Why the Fuck, would this tired ass, obese (relax, the truth hurts) teacher and autism mom, enjoy a level of self-harm that puts her emo-stage in the early 90’s to shame? Here’s what I’ve discovered (and yes, most of you probably already know this) When you kick your own ass, there is something released into the brain that rivals the pills I take to make it through my day. Do you hear that? CrossFit makes me happier. Isn’t that the most fucked up concept? This special-needs mom, with a severe level of anxiety and mild depression is telling you…that...exercising until you think you might vomit on an elite athlete’s shoes, is better for your head than any pharmaceutical out there. There, I said it. And if you don’t believe me… Fuck off, I don’t care. CrossFit doesn’t make me nicer. |
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GoTeamKate 27 Wellington Row Saint John, NB E2L 4S1 I've been a tad overwhelmed with teaching Kindergarten during a pandemic (masks and all) butttttttt, I have not forgotten my sweet patr
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