Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Hmmmm... Why Not Just Castrate Them?

All right, I'll admit it.  Perhaps the title is a wee bit drama queen'ish, but I am after all a DIVA.  That's why our blog is called Autism DIVA Help.  A little help for you, a little help for me, and everyone gets a hug at the end of the post.  Yes, even the men.  You may now uncross your legs.  I'm not on a man hating mission, I'm on a man SAVING mission.

That's right, the Diva is wanting to save men, you read it right.  I know...  shocking as you probably think I hate men with a passion.  This is not true, I love men.  This is why I have so much trouble with them.  My son is a male, so to hate men would mean I hate my son, and y'all know that could be farther from the truth.  Also, my "dad" Paul Humphreys has been a blessing in my life, and is one of the most amazing people I have had the pleasure of knowing.  And he's a man.

Let's get to the point.

Schools and society are emasculating our sons and I'm sick of it.

A little harsh?  I don't think so.

Remember when we were kids?  I do.  I was a tom boy, and my mom and dad were far from rich.  They owned their own home.  That's where the money ended.  They both worked their butts off, day and night.  As a result, I had to learn how to cook (burn food would describe it far better) at an early age.

Did I ever play house?  Yup, sure did.  Did I play with barbies?  Yup, my neighbour had two and she shared hers with me.  I had a bike, thanks to my grandma Barcic, and a deflated soccer ball.  We lived across a large field, and that's where I played soccer with the neighbourhood kids.  Soccer and...  wait for it...

Cowboys and Indians.  Cops and Robbers.  Partisans and Nazi's.  Growing up in communist Slovenija, World War II was talked about often.  Especially Tito.  Anyways...  my point is that we pretended to shoot each other.  If we didn't have toy guns (which was my case), we (I) picked up a stick and pretended it was a rifle or gun.  "Ratatatapow."

Have I shot a real rifle?  Yes, my dad taught me when I was 8 years old. Have I killed anyone when I grew up?  NOPE.  I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it.  I once held a pillow over Glen's face when he slept, but the gurgling made me feel guilty and I quit (KIDDING!!!...  or am I???).  Have I threatened to kill anyone?  NOPE.  Do I own a gun?  NOPE.  Have I brought a gun to school or my work place?  (I can almost hear my past employers holding their breath...  wonder if I should answer this one...)?  Relax, NOPE.  Have I thought of shooting an employer, co-worker, ex boyfriends, ex friends, etc?  NOPE.  Sure haven't.  (Is that a sigh of relief I hear?)  Am I a violent person?  NOPE.  Just keep your distance from my son and I'll behave like a perfect lady.  Even when a daycare and school physically abused my son, I didn't lay a finger on anyone responsible for hurting my babe.  This is where you need to go back to the beginning of this paragraph where I say I've thought about killing someone, or at the very least, maiming someone.

Nowadays, boys are not allowed to play or pretend to play with guns anymore.  Video games depicting guns are frowned upon.  I don't know how many times Dayton's school insinuated that I was an unfit parent because Dayton's father "exposed" him to violent video games.  Isn't it funny how that works?  Glen does it, I get blamed for it.  I even have a copy of Dayton's level III funding application where the guidance counsellor states that I EXPOSED DAYTON TO VIOLENT VIDEO GAMES...  made Dayton's home a "hostile environment" during a difficult time in my marriage...  among other things... Ugh...

Nowadays, our boys are expected to sit pretty at their desks at school the whole day, unless of course it's time to hit the gym.  And if your child fits on the autism spectrum...  or has ADHD...  prepare to receive the worst parent's award of the month, every month.

I remember sitting through a service in which the pastor stopped his sermon and addressed his congregation.  He said:  "gentlemen, let's face it.  We all married 'up.'  Ladies, please, bear with your husbands.  There is scientific proof that the human fetus, up until about six to seven weeks after conception is technically FEMALE.  After the said six to seven weeks, the embryo that has inherited the 'Y' chromosome endures a hormonal bath which actually damages their brain and alters its structure.  You could say we're brain damaged ladies!!!"

The hormone the pastor talked about is called testosterone.  Testosterone is the hormone responsible for social dominance.  All throughout history, even the caveman days, it was the male that was the dominant force in society, not the female.  The men went out and hunted, fought for territory,  were builders, made weapons, fought wars and physically protected what was theirs.  The women were the maintainers and caretakers of their home and family.

Hormones dictate how we relate to each other.  Numerous experts believe boys are more assertive, take risks, fight, argue, and their determination to live on the edge of disaster is linked to testosterone AND to the way their brain has been altered during their hormonal bath in utero.  It is also responsible for boys' desire from a very, very early age (toddler hood) to be the toughest, bravest, rootin-shootin hombre in the west.  Or the strongest soldier fighting for our freedom.  This is the way GOD made them!!!

I am NOT a fan of guns, at least not now as an adult.  Would I prefer my son be passive and sit all day to make my life easier?  Absolutely.  There are days where I'd just like to RELAX...  But let's face it.  Boys are not born to sit around.  They're meant to run, jump, play recklessly, wrestle, and be loud.  Now let's add PDD-NOS, ADHD, OCD and ODD to the mix.  Booyah!  There is NO rest, PERIOD.  Autism is pretty much family traits intensified by 100.  So, Dayton's a boy (which means he's naturally not able to sit around as it is) with autism (holly crap, hang on tight and fasten your seat belts, because we gotta multiply the squirminess by 100).  Let's not forget Dayton's OCD...  meaning he perseverates over things like guns...  and being a boy...  and SpongeBob...  and missing the toilet...  grrr...

What is the alternative here?  Shave his legs, put him in a dress and call him Daytona?  NOT!!!  Have my boy 'snipped?'  NOT!!!

Whether I like it or not, whether the school system likes it or not, my boy is ALL BOY.  So are the other boys out there.  Short of castrating them so they stop producing testosterone, there is nothing else for us to do but to ACCEPT the fact that they are BOYS.  And we need our boys!!!

Have you ever googled emasculation of men?  I dare you.  It's all about castration.  In a sense, this is what society is doing to our kids, but expecting boys to behave like GIRLS!!!

Consider yourselves hugged,


Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Schools Threatening Parents With CFS? Yup, They Do That...

Don't worry School Divsion 2...  This is not about you.

I get reader emails once in a while.  Not tons of it, but enough to want to start a newspaper column called Dear Lola the Crazy Diva.  I do my best NOT to blog about emails I receive, but this one is laying heavy on my heart.  I just can't stop thinking about it.  It's really upsetting to me that schools do this all the time, and yet when we as parents call CFS to complain about how schools treat or manhandle our children, nothing is done.

People wonder why our kids are a generation away from barbarianism...  This is why people!!!  We're not allowed to discipline our kids anymore.  Don't even think of raising your voice at them, or the school WILL call CFS.  You will be investigated for abuse, and God help you...  Teacher stuffs a special needs child in a duffel bag, and that's OK, but raise your voice or shove your child out away from danger...  All hell breaks loose, and you've just become the WORST PARENT EVER!!!

Settle down...  I'm not promoting child abuse here folks.  My dad took a belt to me, and I remember it well.  I'm 37 years old and still afraid of my dad.  As a result, we don't have a relationship, leaving me without a family to turn to...  But ch'a know what?  I'm OK.  I'm not breaking and entering, I'm not using drugs, I'm not a drunk, and I pay my taxes...  Have I thought of smacking Dayton with a belt?  Absolutely NOT.  NEVER, EVER would I take a belt to my babe.  Have I smacked his butt?  Yup.  With my hand.  Believe me when I tell you, the boy must have a callused butt or something, because my hand hurt more than his bony, little butt.  Now, before you start dialling CFS, I gave him one swat on a fully clothed butt.  No bruises on his body, but I believe I may have bruised his ego.  Have I raised my voice at my son?  I plead the 5th.  Does Canada have the 5th?  Hmmmm...  I'm sure we do...  Either way, I'm not discussing my parenting style, as I plan on writing a book titled How To Raise The Perfect Child and I'm a gonna make a kill'n on it.

For some reason, kids with special needs are an enormous headache on our schools.  I don't know what the problem is with our educators, but they view our kids' disabilities as a "parenting problem."  Say the word ADHD, and you can literally see their eyes glaze over.  They're not listening to a single word you're telling them after you've said ADHD.  Behavioural issue.  That's all they see.  Tell them you're going through a separation with your spouse, and they're dialling the number to CFS.  I'm not kidding here, that's what's happened to this poor guy who emailed me.  There were other things that went on for this dad of two, but I can't share more because I don't know how many incidences schools have with the same behaviour's and I don't want to jeopardize this dad's chances at an amicable resolution...  if this school is capable of it that is...

I can't be too hard on the schools though.  Dayton's school has been a blessing this year, and his teacher just absolutely amazing.  I've missed triage conferences this week, and the teacher actually emailed me wanting me us to meet up at a more convenient time for her to show me Dayton's work!  I've never had a teacher do that before!!!  She actually cares!!!  Last weekend (yes, you read that right, Saturday evening actually), Dayton's teacher called me at home to discuss his magnet board for earning rewards and was concerned for Dayton, wanting him to feel successful and wanting to WORK WITH ME to tweak the reward system!!!  Again, this is the first time EVER that I've had a teacher do this.  But, not all of us are so lucky.  I know I wasn't last year, or the year before, or the year before that...  Ugh.  I wish I could name Dayton's teacher, so that everyone would know who this amazing woman is.  It's killing me not being able to share with you all, and let you know that she is real and not a figment of my imagination...  Now, back to this poor dad's problem, a problem most of us face.

Schools will always call CFS on a kid with a label.  This is not coming from me, but from a CFS worker I used to work with.  Yes, I worked with a CFS worker, and no, no one made me.  I loved her.  She was a fire cracker.  Dayton's school's biggest threat was to call CFS (which they did three times), so I brought CFS to them.  The school didn't like that AT ALL.  Their power over me was gone.  Nothing left to threaten me with.  As you know, I always carry a little crazy with me, you just never know when it will come in handy, and it sure did last year when I'd finally had enough of their BS.  It was the best thing I ever did.

So yes, schools do use CFS to threaten parents.  It sucks, but it's very, very true.  The way to get around it?  Even though uncomfortable, invite them in your home, it's not like you have anything to hide, unless of course you DO have a gun hiding under your bed.  Invite CFS to ALL school meetings.  You would be surprised how helpful CFS can be TO THE PARENT!  Take whatever CFS offers you, for example:  counselling.  Counselling never hurt anyone, and let's face it, raising a child with disabilities is NOT an easy task.  Some of us have no families to turn to, and it's nice to have someone to vent to.  Not only that, but maybe, just maybe, they might have suggestions in parenting.  You just never know until you keep an open mind and give it a shot.

By the way...  The CFS worker/fire cracker told me to get used to it...  That's right, schools will call CFS on you many, many times, especially those of us who have kids with ADHD and kids on the autism spectrum.  Awesome.  And those of us with kids diagnosed with PDD-NOS...  well, it appears that we are haunted by threats of CFS the most.  FANTASTIC!!!  So, buckle up folks, we're in for a loooooong ride.  Personally, I've got eight years left to go.  I think I can make it.  If not, there's always Valium.  And wine, mommy's little helper.

Consider yourselves hugged,


Thursday, 15 March 2012

Me? A Celebrity? No Way!

Well, your's truly has made it in the news...


Not the big time news, but news never the less.  I have a wonderful friend Dani, who wrote about SuperDad and I and our work with PACE, and a fellow autism mom who wrote about PACE as well.  I have been blessed with wonderful friends who support my efforts in raising awareness about our kids and what we want for them.

Here's Dani's article:


And here's Angeline's article:


Both are short articles, well written and worth the time to read.  These ladies know how to write, and write super well; both of them write professionally.

Consider yourselves hugged,


Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Blessed Be The Name Of The Lord

I keep hearing this song over and over and over in my mind lately:  "Blessed be the name of the Lord, blessed be Your name: JESUS, blessed be the name of the Lord, blessed be Your glorious name..."

A very dear friend to my heart had messaged me via facebook and apologized for not meeting me for coffee when he had the chance.  In his message to me, well...  I should just share a part of it...

"I read your blog, I read your (facebook) status updates...  it is amazing to me what you have in your past and in your present been through, and do you give up...  hell no, you raise to the challenge..."

I had taken a few days to mull over what he was saying to me, but naturally, the man was impatient and wanted a response.  I wasn't quite ready to respond, but felt I had to and hurt my my dear friend's feelings...

I had to keep reading the above paragraph over and over and the more I read it, the more intimidated I got by the woman my friend was talking about.  I mean, wow, she seems really amazing!  But this woman is not me.  I'm not strong, not at all.  I'm just as whiny and irritated by life as the next woman.  Just ask Dayton's dad.  Well, maybe don't.  He'll tell you horror stories and y'all gonna think I'm nuts...  Isn't it funny how two people can look at the exact same person and see someone totally different?   Glen wonders out loud when "they're" going to name a hurricane after me, and then there's my dear friend Dan who thinks I'm this amazing, wonderful human being...  Then there's me who knows the truth:  I always carry a little crazy with me.  You just never know when it's going to come in handy, ya'know?

Anyways...  My point.  Menopause brain at it's finest here...  My point is that I'm not alone, EVER.  I'm always praying.  And say what you will about God having been taken out of schools, at the end of the day, as long as students are being tested, people will be praying.  Not just the students taking the test, but the moms and dads out there and teachers too!  Many people out there who have professed to not believe in God, sure call His name out often.  Me thinks they be called hypocrites.

No matter what I do during the course of the day, I silently pray for guidance.  There are days where I want to hurt people's feelings with a chainsaw, but I remind myself that that's just not appropriate and I must obey the Lord.  Remember those bracelets kids used to wear, reminding them "what would Jesus do?"  I think we need to bring those back.  I've fallen off the wagon, especially with Glen, and snapping that bracelet would put me back in check.

I think that sometimes, you need to step outside of the person you've been, and think about the person God has meant for you to be.  You know, the person you WANT to be - the person you truly are once stripped down to your naked self.  Remind yourself of what is truly important in your life.  Reach way, way down, and you will know it.  It may take some time, but you'll get there.

It turns out that for me, my relationship with God is far more important than my relationships with people.  I have made a real mess of things when I worry about others liking me, but when I focus on pleasing God, and doing what I can to be likeable to Him, others tend to like me more than they had when I worked really hard at getting them to like me.  My relationship with God is unconditional, He never leaves my side.  I talk to him all the time.  This relationship is what gives me what I need to keep going.  I don't have a choice.  I can't just give up and walk away, it's not something God would want me to do.

My struggles with accepting autism as a way of life for my family could not have been overcome without the guidance of the Lord.  He gives me strength and helps me accept what I can not change.  I trust that He gives me what I need, and provides me only with what I need.  So, I guess that makes me low maintenance?  Hahaha!  The more I pray, the more at peace I am.

So, my response back to Dan, well part of it:

"Dayton is the air I breath, and I would die for him.  Whatever he needs, I will always provide, no matter what.  He always comes first.  And let's not forget about God.  With Him, all things are possible.  I truly believe God has a purpose for my son, something incredible.  I know that this autism thing has a higher purpose, and that my struggle is not in vain.  You know what I mean?  I think God gives us "opportunities," and some of them are pretty tough, but it's up to us to take these "opportunities" and either make something out of them or crash and burn.  I choose to make something out of this for Dayton and I, make a life that we can reflect back to God.  I prayed for a son, and He gave me one, and I swore that I would give my son right back to him.  God's given me a beautiful son, and it's my job to raise him in His image...

Thank you for thinking of me and encouraging me.  I especially thank you for your prayers...  God is hearing them, as my life with Dayton is good!!"

As my dad Paul Humphreys taught me to say:  Consider yourselves hugged!


Monday, 12 March 2012

The Joy Of Being Me

I know most of you out there strive to be "just like me" when you grow up.  Because let's face it, I'm the "bomb."  I have a gorgeous body covered in lots and lots of adipose tissue to protect and cushion my skeletal system and vital organs and keep me warm at night, making it easier to live without a man...  I'm a diva, I get to make my own rules because I'm all grown up as well as around, and I smell good.  Oh, and my friends tell me I have great hair.  But let's not kid ourselves.  Not everything in my life is rosy...

Due to all that adipose tissue and my age, I'm now on blood pressure medication.  Yup, it's official, I'm an old maid.  I thought I had a few more years in me, but it seems middle age has snuck up on me, along with these pesky, wiry, shiny, silver hair I used to be able to get away calling blond...  I now officially get my youth from a L'Oreal box I lovingly call "grey away," like my momma taught me, and pluck away at the two darn silver hair growing out of my left eye brow.

The silver lining in all of this (you know I'm all a about the silver lining, right) is that the roman numeral for 40 is XL!  Isn't that nice?  As I've matured, I've noticed these skin discolourations on my face and hands...  what the heck is that about?  Gravity, by the way, does exist.  I won't scare you with the things I've found hanging that used to be lifted much, much higher.  Things I used to enjoy eating are now giving me heartburn, and Metamucil's become my closest friend.

Cat naps are my favourite time of the day, and not getting one is a bad thing for anyone around me.  As my boss has pointed out, I'm a nice Lou, but all of a sudden mean Lou (my evil twin Lola) comes out of nowhere.  Not to mention I'm getting louder since I'm losing the hearing in my left ear.

As nice as the cat naps are, I miss sleeping in the evening.  What is it about the dark that my body won't relax and do what comes naturally?  The hot sweats in the middle of the night aren't helping things in this department.

What's happening to me?  I'm scared?  Someone, give me a hug and tell me this too shall pass...


Sunday, 4 March 2012

What's The Worst That Can Happen?

Oh SpongeBob, you've done it again.  You've taught Dayton another phrase he's been stuck on the whole weekend.  And when Dayton starts repeating a phrase over and over, trying to explain the phrase is futile, as well as frustrating.

Echolalia, for those of you not familiar with it, is similar to a skipping record.  For those of you too young to remember what a record is, that's similar to a scratched CD.  For those of you that don't know what a CD is, I suggest you see your doctor, because if you can read this and don't know what a CD is, I'm fairly certain you have alzheimer's.

Dayton's spurts of echolalia typically come about when he's super upset with me, and it seems to be he's been upset with me a lot this weekend.  Now why, you may ask yourselves, is my babe upset with me, I mean, I'm so wonderful and all...

I grounded his butt.  And if he doesn't smarten up, I'm gonna be grounding him for life.

My babe's decided not to do work at school.  Furthermore, he refuses to go to the gym for assemblies, and figures he can swear at his gym teacher and get away with it.  It certainly doesn't help my mood that his teacher put me in my place while speaking to her by phone and telling her that I'm not sure if Dayton and his new aid are a good fit, as he often comes home complaining about her; I said it in front of Dayton and she chastised me for it, rightfully so.  I know it wasn't the smartest move on my part, but I don't get the privilege of privacy in a 900 sq. foot home, especially when I'm grounding his sorry, bony, little butt.

I refuse to believe Dayton's acting out because I've gone back to the work force.  It's just not an option - I must work, not only for the cash, but my sanity.  I need some adult interaction in my life, and I need to feel I have a purpose in my life.  Yes, I would definitely be busy enough with PACE and blogging, but I need more in my life than autism. I need some normalcy in my life too.  There needs to be some balance.

Either way, my boy's decided to question authority, and not in a polite way.  So, I decided to take away his playstation for the weekend and ground him for a week.  No playstation, and no friends for the rest of the week...  Puts me in a delicate situation this Tuesday night for PACE's kid gymboree, but I'll figure something out.  Maybe he won't be allowed to bring his hockey stick or something...  I'll sleep on it.

So, the boy's been repeating the phrase 'What's the worst that can happen,' which he heard on SpongeBob, and he's been doing it all weekend long.

"Dayton, eat your supper please."
"What's the worst that can happen?"

"Dayton, please clean your room."
"What's the worst that can happen?"

"Dayton, clean up your mess please."
"What's the worst that can happen?"

"Dayton, time for bed."
"What's the worst that can happen?"

He doesn't just say it once, he says it over and over and over and over and over and over and over again!  It's enough to make me want to pull my hair out.  I haven't bothered to take my blood pressure, I know it's been high.  No sense in beating a dead dog there.  (I don't dare say that out loud).

Yeah...  started Thursday after school and I'm praying to God it ends tonight, because I'm really not sure how much more I can take before I resort to self medicating myself.  And Dayton's SpongeBob pillow...  well, let's just say that there was a little, tiny accident...

Here's praying for a good week ahead.  Consider yourselves hugged,


Friday, 2 March 2012

Bite Me, Lola!!!

There are days I throw myself a pity party, days where I get mad at myself, and days where I'm just so tired of it all I literally sleep the day away.  Oh, and let's not forget my good old friend, the one that's stuck with me through thick and thin, the one that never leaves my side as other friends have done, the one and only:  Guilt.  Born a girl, and Catholic, I never stood a chance to escape this friend.  I was literally born with him beside me.  My twin.  I call him/her "Lola."  My sick, twisted, evil twin.

When I go to visit the Autism Winnipeg Facebook Page, I see new members coming on daily.  These new members are asking for advice for their little ones just diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder.  When it comes to the little tykes under the age of five, I feel like screaming at the parents to take the ABA (applied behaviour analysis) therapy, or the Floor Time Therapy, hell take them both if you can.  I think the toughest Autism Winnipeg Parents to hear from are the ones that got their child's diagnosis after age five, where the child is past the acceptable age for ABA or any other therapy, as was the case with Dayton...

But it didn't have to be that way for Dayton...

We lived in Calgary at the time, and Dayton was just under two years old when early intervention came to my home to do observations on my little tyke.  And one day, in my home, in front of my babe, they tell me:  "We're not sure, but we'd like to observe Dayton for autism."

My reply?  "What are you on crack?  My son ain't no 'Rain Man!'  Get out of my house!!!

I had worked with children with disabilities for about a year at this point, and had a few children with autism on my case load.  These children, however, I fed through a G-tube.  They were completely non-verbal, in diapers at age 7 and often zoned out into 'their own world.'  A lot of stimming, such as head banging, humming, rocking and finger flapping came along with their autism.  My babe was NOTHING like that!

So, when Early Intervention told me their reasons for observing Dayton for autism, I dismissed their reasoning away...

Reason 1)  Dayton does not speak well, and only has five words.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Yeah, he's not quite two, and he's an only child.  Plus, let's not forget he's a boy and boys are a wee bit slower than girls, right?

Reason 2)  Dayton grunts and points at objects he wants instead of asking for them with his words.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Ummmm, yeah...  He's a boy!  Plus, I finish his words for him and I know what he wants so I just get it for him.  I've made him lazy is all.  I'm his mom, it's my responsibility to know and sense what my babe needs, right?

Reason 3)  Dayton's only form of entertainment are dinosaurs, even though he has many other toys to pick from, he continually chooses the dinosaurs and plays with them exactly the same way every time.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Ummmmm, yeah...  Again, he's a boy.  If he was playing with Barbies, I'd be worried.

Reason 4)  Dayton chooses the dinosaurs over other toys because dinosaurs don't speak, so he doesn't have to.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Seriously people!  Are you on crack?  For real?!  That means the rest of the boys out there playing with dinosaurs are autistic too!  Every boy I've met has played with dinosaurs!!!

Reason 5)  Dayton walks on his toes.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  yeah....  I got nothing for that one.  Maybe he wants to be a ballerina?  OK, so I agree, a little weird, but we can fix this.  Doesn't mean my babe's like 'Rain Man.'

Reason 6)  Dayton doesn't cry when you leave the room.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  I think that's freaking awesome!!!  I'm grateful he's not a big momma's boy!

Reason 7)  Dayton doesn't make good eye contact.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Neither do I...  I'm working on it though.  Maybe he's a little shy like I am (NOT), but you know... that's what I mean, was I lying to myself or in denial?

Reason 8)  Dayton's play skills are delayed.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Ummmm, hellllllooooo...  My babe's just under two years old!  How delayed could he possibly be:  a day or two?!  Get over yourselves!  Plus, that's my fault.  I don't know how to play, I was a single child too and had no one to play with.  I'll learn how to play and play with Dayton more often then.  I can fix this.

Reason 9)  Dayton eats the crayons instead of drawing with them.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  He's a toddler people!  Why does every parents ensure there's nothing for a toddler around the house for the child to choke on?  Because all kids stuff their mouths with something not edible...  That's how they explore, right?  Could that possibly be why most toys for older kids have a warning "Choking hazard, not for children under 3?"  Maybe he doesn't have an interest in drawing...  I know I don't.  I can hardly draw a stick man!

Reason 10)  Dayton can't hold a pencil or crayon properly in his hand.  His fine motor skills are lacking.
Big Momma's denial or lie:  Ummmmm....  he's not quite two years old...  Let's let the boy get some practice with this, shall we?  Let's let him grow up a bit and then worry...

MATC and finally got a diagnosis within two observations of my boy...  Very short observations revealed that Dayton in fact had PDD-NOS.  Finally, got the diagnosis, two months before his eighth birthday.  He was too old for ABA or Floor Time Therapies.  Lola came on strong and made me feel like the world's worst mother.  I'm gonna have to take Lola out back and shoot her.

So, for parents out there struggling with what professionals think of their kiddos, if some professional even whispers the word autism, LISTEN to them.  Put down your pride, shut up, take whatever therapy they want your little one to take and like Nike says, JUST DO IT.  A little play never hurt anyone, and if they're wrong, then all you've lost is a bit of time, during which your kiddo got to play with someone other than you.  Big deal.  But if they're right...  You've offered everything you possibly can to your child.  Don't let Lola into your life.  Her craaaaazy!!!

Warning:  denials and lying to yourself continues on way past the diagnosis...  It's happening to me as we speak as I sit back and wonder if I've just grounded my boy for his disability or if he truly deserves it.  Yup, Lola's sitting right beside me...

Consider yourselves hugged,