Socks

In the middle of work, Calder took off his socks, smelled them and started laughing to himself. The social worker recounted the above scenario to me and asked if he was being cheeky. I told her I would ensure that he changes his socks regularly. 

Never knew one could get high from smelly socks. 

Parenting

I was invited by the parent support group to share about autism at Rosyth school last Friday (28 Jul). The speaker before me was talking about stress management and he invited the audience to think about how they might improve their parenting. "Enjoy their company!" I offered. I also thought about how I should say yes faster than I blurt no. Linking to this topic on mental health, I started my talk by comparing the stress faced by a neurotypical child (e.g. my daughter) versus that faced by an autistic child (e.g. my son). I also shared about stress that besets the family members, how we cope, how people helped etc. After the talk, a parent conveyed that she's been very inspired. Then she shared with me her challenge supporting a newly-diagnosed dyslexic son. Was she right to have excused him from an intimidating therapist (who frightened not just him but her as well)? After all, the therapist is the expert. I assured her that in special needs families, the parents are also experts. "What's most important," I reflected, "is that our children know we're on their side". Interestingly, although I was encouraging inclusion through a better understanding of autism, I grew as a parent with renewed perspectives that would help not just Calder but Ethel too.

Wave

When I brought Calder downstairs to wait for his chartered bus, an uncle was about to take a seat at the void deck. Calder, who walked faster than me, took a seat opposite the old man and silently gazed at him. Then I joined them and nodded in greeting at the uncle (whom I've never met in the neighborhood). Very soon, the bus arrived and Calder boarded before I could say goodbye. I drew near to the bus window and waved cheerfully at him, hoping he would wave back (something I've been wanting to teach him). Even pointed at my waving hand, hoping he would get the cue. Behind the window, Calder just grinned at me. The bus left and I was still smiling when I turned to walk home. By now, the uncle would have surmised that Calder is no ordinary chap.

Uncle: He's going to school?

Me: He's going to work. 

Uncle: He's your didi (younger brother)?

Me: He's my son 

Uncle: So young?

I must have skipped home. 

Michele

Calder's new piano teacher arrived at our place yesterday. When it was time for her to leave, I prompted him to bid farewell. "Bye bye, Michele," he said. I corrected: " Bye bye, Teacher Michele". He repeated after me hesitantly. I was rather puzzled because Calder usually wouldn't call teachers directly by name. Towards bedtime, I finally found out why. (See Entry 18 of his journal for the day.)