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Where I Stand On The Spanking Debate

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When I was a child, my mother had a wooden spoon named Belinda. There was a happy face drawn on one side of Belinda, and a sad face on the other side. If my mother could tell that my behaviour was about to go downhill, she would produce Belinda like a magician, and show me the two faces.

“Do you want the happy face or the sad face?” she would ask.

The happy face meant a reward. The sad face meant a spanking. Belinda was an absolutely marvellous tool for teaching me about things like decision-making and consequences.

Sometimes I got the sad face, and therefore a spanking.  The spankings didn’t happen often, and they were never severe – just a couple of open-handed swats on the bum – but they did serve their intended purpose of discipline. Usually I was not a repeat offender of the transgressions that I was spanked for.

I turned out OK, bear absolutely no ill will towards my parents for spanking me, and I did not grow up with the belief that the only way to solve a problem is by striking out physically. I freely admit to having my fair share of issues, but for the most part I am a well-balanced individual who can problem-solve in a balanced, rational and non-violent way.

In other words, my experiences of being spanked as a child did not turn me into a raging psychopath.

The world is a very different place today. If you admit to spanking your kids, people look at you as if you’re a child abuser who should be locked up for life. Many countries have legislated strict guidelines surrounding spanking. Some places have banned it altogether.

And I cannot help wondering if governments are going too far in telling parents how to do their jobs.

There is no question that there are people who cross the line from spanking to abuse. That was the case when I was a child, and it is still the case today. Guidelines and laws that either limit or ban spanking will not change that. If someone has that kind of disposition, or if they are in a state of anger that would drive them to extremes, they’re not going to stop and say, “Damn, this is against the law, I’d better stop.”

The point I’m making is that if someone is going to be abusive, they are going to be abusive.

Don’t get me wrong. I do think there should be guidelines. If a newborn baby is being spanked, that’s a problem. If a kid is black and blue from being “spanked”, that’s a problem. If the neighbours are hearing screams or if a child is afraid of his or her parents, that’s a problem. There needs to be some definition of exactly what it is that constitutes “spanking”.

At the same time, though, parents need to be allowed to parent. The vast majority of parents are quite capable of parenting their children without wrecking them, and there are abuse laws to deal with the ones who aren’t. If the laws aren’t good enough, the solution is to change the laws to ensure that the kids are safe from abusers. The solution is not to take power away from parents who are doing a perfectly good job.

I don’t spank my own kids, but that’s not because of a moral problem with it. It’s simply because spanking is not an effective means of discipline for them. If other parents choose to spank their kids in a responsible manner, I have absolutely no issues with that.

What are your views on spanking? Were you spanked as a child, and if so, did it have any lasting impact on you?

(Photo credit: richard_north. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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A Mom’s Shameful Regret

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He’s been needling me all day.

It’s a cold, rainy day and I didn’t get any sleep. The weather is too miserable for me to go outside for some invigorating fresh air. I’m trying hard to hide the fact that I’m irritable, and for the most part, I’ve been succeeding.

Just another hour to go…

Just sixty more minutes until I tuck him in, turn the lights out and kiss him goodnight. He’ll sleep well tonight. He usually does when he’s been fussing all day. Irritation and anxiety take a lot of energy out of him.

And there has been a lot of irritation and anxiety today. He’s kept on wanting stuff but not knowing how to ask for it. He’s been frustrated by my failed attempts to understand him. He has been pushing his little brother around, because he just doesn’t know what to do with the frustration. Sheets have been ripped off beds. Toy boxes have been turned upside down. Hampers full of clean, folded laundry have been upended. There’s a new hole in the drywall from a headbanging incident.

I’ve been taking it in my stride, talking in low, calm tones to soothe myself as well as him. Earlier I escaped to the shower for a much-needed ten minutes. I’ve been keeping myself going by taking this difficult day in five-minute chunks, by guiltily counting down the minutes until the kids’ bedtime, by promising myself a relaxing glass of wine as soon as the kids have dropped off to sleep.

They’re in their pyjamas now, and I’m preparing their bedtime cups of milk.

He comes up to me and yells something unintelligible. I sigh inwardly and look at him.

“What did you say?” My question comes out more sharply than I had intended.

He walks over to the door, and opens it for the express purpose of slamming it as hard as he can.

And just like that, I’ve had enough. That one small action has been enough to send me over the edge, to be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“I’m SICK of this!” I scream, surprising even myself. “Why can’t you just be NORMAL?”

Instantly, I realize what I’ve said and I feel like the worst mother in the world. This is my son, my beautiful boy. He hasn’t been difficult today on purpose. It’s not his fault he has autism, and he hasn’t enjoyed this anxiety-filled day any more than I have. And I have just yelled at him for not being normal.

I’ve done something terrible, I think to myself.

I look at my child, who I absolutely adore, who I have just thrown such dreadfully hurtful words at, and I wish I could have the chance to take it back.

I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.

I sink down onto the couch and dissolve into tears. I am full of self-loathing, and every fibre of my being is wondering what damage I have done, and how much I have set back my child’s progress.

As I sit there sobbing, with my face buried in my hands, I feel a small movement next to me. I look up and he is there, looking at me with a combination of confusion and concern.

“Go give Mommy a hug,” he says softly, and wraps his arms around my neck.

And that makes me cry even harder.

(Photo credit: butupa. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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What I Hope

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I hope that George knows I will always support him in whatever he wants to do, and that I will never see his autism as an obstacle.

I hope that when I am weathering the challenges of autism with George, I am acting in a way that helps him instead of hindering him.

I hope that James knows I understand how tough it must be, being the sibling of a child with autism.

I hope that James knows how immensely I value him as an individual in his own right, and that he is not defined by virtue of being George’s brother.

I hope that George knows he is not defined by autism, but that autism is just one part of who he is.

I hope that the moments of weakness that I have – those times when my desperation and sense of being overwhelmed spill over – do not undermine my kids and cause them lasting damage.

I hope that my better moments – the laughter and the hugs and the words of encouragement – build up their confidence and self-esteem.

I hope that I can always be the kind of autism mom who never gives up a fight, no matter how hard and scary it can be.

I hope that when I talk to strangers about autism, or when I write about it, I am doing so in a way that will help both of my kids as they navigate their way through life.

I hope that I will have the courage to stand up to anyone who ever tries to hurt my kids.

I hope that my kids know that when autism parenting just gets too hard for me to handle and I need to spend time by myself, it’s not because of them. It’s because of my own fears and insecurities that I want to protect them from.

I hope that my kids know I love them without reservation, without boundaries, and beyond the ends of time.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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A Letter To Autism

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Dear Autism,

Although we were only formally introduced to one another six years ago, we have really known each other for longer than that. I didn’t realize it at the time, but you came into my life 9 years, 7 months and 4 days ago, on the day of my son’s birth.

You were there throughout his infancy, staying up with me during the late-night feedings and diaper changes, looking over my shoulder as I tried to figure out what was making him cry, and watching as I tentatively navigated those uncertain months of new motherhood.

You were there during his toddler years, and it was then that you really started to make your presence more obvious. You guided those tiny little hands of his as he repeatedly spun the wheels of toy cars without actually playing with them. You got him interested in that piece of string that he spent hours and hours examining. You choked his language skills and made sure he wouldn’t be interested in playing with other kids.

I didn’t know your name yet, but I knew you were there. I felt as if you wanted my beautiful boy all to yourself. You didn’t even want to share him with me. I hated you and felt threatened by you.

On the day the doctor told me your name, I cried. The doctor said that you would have control of my son forever, that he would never be able to achieve anything because of you. Hearing that broke my heart.

When I was done crying, I made a decision. I was not going to let you win. I was not going to let you ruin my son’s chances to have the best life possible. I knew that I would not be able to get rid of you, though. So we were going to have to learn to live with each other, you and I. Maybe we would even have to become friends.

And so, instead of trying to beat you down, I tried to find ways to work with you. You weren’t going to let my son learn in the ways that other kids learn, so I found people who would teach him in ways that you would like. You weren’t going to make it easy for him to talk, so I had to start at grass-roots level and show him ways to communicate in your presence, in ways that you would allow. You didn’t want him to enjoy playing with other kids his age, so me and my family became his playmates, teaching him how to play without letting you take the fun out of it.

As we have gone through all of this together, you and I, I have made the most astounding discovery. There are actually things about you that I like. You have accelerated the development of whatever part of my son’s brain is responsible for math. In blocking those quote-unquote “normal” ways of thinking, you have opened up his mind to thinking in ways that are unique and incredible. You have given him the ability to single-mindedly focus on a task until it is done just the way he wants it. Because of you, my son is determined and hard-working, and does not believe in giving up.

Best of all, you have touched my beautiful child with his own special brand of magic. He has an innocence and pureness of spirit that makes him light up the space around him. Because you make him think in such a unique way, he has a quirky sense of humour that brightens up the lives of those who are near him. He has a fierce love for me, for his dad, and for his little brother.

You have given me a special gift as well. You have taught me how to appreciate the little things. Every word, every sentence, every little baby-step of progress is a cause for celebration. I have learned how to be happy in the most adverse circumstances.

I cannot go far enough to say that I like you, Autism. But without a doubt, there are things that I respect about you, and while you have made my life so hard and heartbreaking in many ways, you have enriched it in other ways.

I have come to terms with the fact that you will always be there, and I think by now you know that I’m not going anywhere, and I am not letting you get the better of my son. I like to think that for the most part, we can peacefully coexist. There are undoubtedly days when you win, and there always will be.

But you will never stop my son, because he is unstoppable, and because he has a family who will fight for him tooth and nail, every step of the way.

Yours truly,

George’s Warrior Mom

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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5 Websites That Every Autism Parent Should Bookmark

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If you are the parent of a child who has recently been diagnosed with autism, you’re probably floundering a little bit. You are going through a major reality shift, and you are wondering, What next? My biggest piece of advice for parents in this situation is to avoid the temptation to Google “autism”. That is a sure recipe for information overload, which can compound any feelings of helplessness and anxiety that you may already be experiencing.

Give yourself at least a couple of weeks of breathing space (or longer – my doctor imposed a Google ban of 30 days, which I am absolutely convinced helped me enormously). When it is time for you to start looking up stuff, start with the following information. It will not only help you now, it will stand you in good stead throughout your autism parenting journey.

1. http://www.wrightslaw.com/  Wright’s Law is aimed at parents in the United States who have special needs kids in the special education system. Although a lot of the information is specific to American laws, a great deal of it applies elsewhere. This site will give you some very good information and resources about your child’s rights, and your rights as a parent.

2. http://www.tdsb.on.ca/ If your child is in the Toronto District School Board, this is the site you want. If not, look up the website of whatever school board your child is being, or will be educated in. Once you have found the site, navigate to the Contacts page and bookmark that. It is likely to contain the phone number of at least one individual whose job it is to deal with special education matters.

3.  http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/hc-ps/dc-ma/autism-eng.php This is the Health Canada resource site for autism. Most governments have sites like this, and they include fact sheets, and information that is specific to where you live, like funding and services that are available.

4.  http://www.autism.net/resources/about-autism.html The Geneva Centre for Autism provides some good information about what autism is and what it means to families who are affected. You can use this not only for yourself, but to pass on to friends and family members who you feel could benefit from the information.

5.  http://www.edu.gov.on.ca/eng/general/elemsec/speced/speced.html If you’re in Ontario, you need this site. If you’re elsewhere, look up the site that contains information about special education laws and processes in your jurisdiction. This will tell you what you and your child are entitled to and how to navigate the maze of educators and policy-makers, what forms to fill in, what you can request, and much more.

As a bonus, here are a few posts I have written in the past that may be of help to families affected by autism.

1.  Tips for parents whose kids have just been diagnosed. http://www.runningforautism.com/2012/11/17/new-autism-diagnosis-5-tips-for-parents/

2. Some possible early signs of autism (emphasis on “possible” – typical kids may experience some of these as well). http://www.runningforautism.com/2012/11/08/five-early-signs-of-autism-my-familys-experience/

3. A fantastic guest post by autism parent and educator Jennifer Krumins, on how to approach life as an autism parent. http://www.runningforautism.com/2012/06/04/guest-post-its-a-marathon-not-a-race/

4. Tips for parents who feel a little lost when it’s time to draft an Individual Education Plan. http://www.runningforautism.com/2011/10/25/10-iep-survival-tips-for-parents-of-children-with-autism-2/

5. How to keep your neurotypical children safe and reassured when their sibling is having an autism meltdown. http://www.runningforautism.com/2011/09/10/autism-meltdowns-six-strategies-for-helping-siblings/

 (Photo credit: Sonia Belviso. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)
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12 Reasons You Know You’re An Autism Parent

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1. Your son will defend to the very last his right to wear his hat at all times. Even while he’s sleeping.

2. When you’re cutting your child’s nails the neighbours come over to ask whose kidney is being forcibly removed.

3. If the coffee machine is moved one gazillionth of an inch to the left, World War III becomes a real possibility.

4. Your nine-year-old can fix any computer problem you throw at him in about three seconds.

5. You want to ask the Mythbusters team to investigate whether “full night’s sleep” really exists.

6. Your child has 237 Mr. Potato Heads and they are lined up according to the colour of their hats.

7. The transition from winter clothes to summer clothes and vice versa has to be planned like a military strike.

8. Your son doesn’t have a teacher, he has a team.

9. You bond with your kid by stimming with him.

10. You throw a party to celebrate when you catch your child telling a lie.

11. You throw a party to celebrate when your child drops an F-bomb in the right context.

12. If your kid has to give a urine sample, he then thinks he has to pee in a jar every time.

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When Moms Take Flight

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When I became first became a mother, I had the same experience that almost all first-time moms go through: all sense of self went completely out of the window. I was no longer a person in my own right, I was Somebody’s Mom, and I had to devote every waking hour – and pretty much all of my sleeping hours – to the care and well-being of that Somebody.

Two years later, I was Mom to not just one, but two Somebodies. A year after that, my firstborn was diagnosed with autism, and I joined the exclusive club of special needs parents.

As I became more and more immersed in my role as a parent, my world started to get smaller and smaller. I can honestly say that if it hadn’t been for my job and the friends I made on the Internet, I would have gone completely around the bend.

My world started to expand a little when I started running. That at least gave me some time to myself, even though a nagging sense of guilt always went running with me. For a short period of time, I even got some running friends, but that didn’t work out. It wasn’t because of them – they were absolutely lovely people – but I was never able to go running at the same time as them. So that was that.

A couple of years ago, someone – possibly a co-worker – asked me what my idea of ultimate luxury was. With no hesitation, I replied, “24 hours by myself in a hotel room with wine, a good book, a hot tub and a TV.” I had this dream of watching whatever shows I wanted, spending time in the hot tub with wine and a book, and then drifting into a deep contented sleep. I fantasized about sleeping through the night and staying in bed for as long as I wanted to in the morning.

I felt terrible about actually wanting this. I mean, my wildest dreams involved being away  from my family. What kind of mother was I? Of course, the idea of going away without my kids was out of the question. I did go on two solo trips to South Africa, but since they were both for deaths in the family, they didn’t really count as “me time”.

About five months ago, something really strange happened. I left my husband and kids at home and went away for a weekend. There was no emergency. No-one had died. I didn’t have to work. I went away for the bizarre reason that I wanted to.

For the whole weekend, I waited for the guilt to kick in. I expected a sudden onslaught of angst. I resigned myself to the fact that sooner or later, I was going to feel like the worst mother in the world for abandoning my family.

Except that this didn’t happen.

To put it bluntly, my weekend was bloody fabulous. It involved nice dinners, parties, and wine-tasting in Niagara. I didn’t catch up on my sleep deficit, because I was too busy meeting new friends and partying harder than I have in at least 20 years. I checked in with the home base a couple of times, and knowing that everyone was still alive and the house was still standing, I didn’t worry about a thing.

I  am not too sure exactly why I felt such freedom to just enjoy myself, but I suspect that I had reached a point of severe burnout. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, taking some time out for myself became a matter of survival. For several years, I had been burning the candle at both ends, working long hours at work, taking care of the family, helping my husband with his business, making sure the bills were paid. I was getting up at five in the morning because that was the only time I could go running. Frequently, I had to choose between sleep and exercise.

And I got to a point of critical mass, where I just couldn’t take any more without a break.

Here’s the incredible thing: the world kept on turning. When I got home at the end of the weekend, the kids were fed and happy and reasonably clean. The house was only marginally untidier than usual. Most importantly, everybody was happy. In retrospect, there is every possibility that my family had needed a break from me as much as I had needed a break from them. After all, when life starts to overwhelm me, I can get a little intense and difficult to live with.

Being away for that weekend gave me some much-needed perspective. I realized that yes, my husband and kids do need me and love me, but they can also survive without me from time to time. I came back with renewed energy, and frankly, my husband and kids benefited from having time together without me. This experience was good for all of us.

My next break is coming up in about a month, when I head out of town to go on a retreat for special needs moms. I cannot wait to go. And I cannot wait to come back, better and stronger for my family.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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Parenting and Mental Health: A Tough Balancing Act

When it comes to parenting my kids, I say all the same things that most mothers say. Everyone has Bad Mommy Days. I’m only human. I have to take care of myself in order to take care of my children. Even when things aren’t going so well, I need to remember that I’m a good mother.

But who am I kidding, really? Like most mothers, I expect myself to be perfect at all times, and I take the concept of guilt to a whole new level. Even more so than the Catholics do.

I pile one thing after another onto my plate, and somehow I manage to keep all the balls in the air most of the time. In the event of me dropping a ball, it’s always one that pertains to my own physical or mental health. In other words, I make it a priority to take care of everyone else, but I just kind of accept that it’s OK for me to neglect myself in the process.

This does not make me special by any means. Most mothers do this, and we all know that we’re not supposed to. We all know that the world won’t end if we take a bit of time to ourselves instead of putting on that load of laundry so that Little Johnny can wear his favourite shirt to school tomorrow. But we head right on down to the washing machine anyway.

Let’s face it, this whole equation is grossly unbalanced. I mean, here I am, a mom of a kid with autism and a kid who’s just a little – you know, spirited. I work full-time, freelance on the side, help the husband with his business and take care of household finances. That’s before I even get to the laundry.

It gets really tricky when it comes to my mental health. This is a subject that I am generally not comfortable talking about, but I feel that it’s important. Many, many mothers – myself included – have to deal with the reality of coping with mental illness while being the best parents they can possibly be. And it’s hard, because as scared and vulnerable and anxious as we may feel, it is our instinct to be strong for our kids.

This week is particularly tough, and here’s why. At this week’s therapy session, me and my therapist started the process of delving into a part of my life that was, to say the least, traumatic. I was describing a specific event – not glossing over the story, but describing everything in detail, and reliving the whole mess all over again.

A process like this comes with a certain amount of psychological fallout. My nerves have been in tatters and my emotions are raw. I am not sleeping, because all of a sudden my mind is being forced to try and process stuff that I’ve been keeping buried for the last twenty years.

And I am a mom. I have kids to take care of, autism meltdowns to deal with, boo-boos to kiss better, hugs and affection to bestow.

Being a mom and dealing with mental illness are not really activities that complement one another. And when I have to choose between taking care of my kids and dealing with my issues, guess who wins every single time?

While I’m putting on a brave face for my kids, though, my feelings are still there. I am still feeling the stress, the trauma, the anxiety, and depending on the day, the depression. I am still staying awake until late at night because I’m afraid to go to sleep and face the nightmares.

But I do what I have to do for my kids, because no matter what weirdness is going on inside my own head, parenting will always be the most important thing I ever do.

I know that I am not alone. I know that there are other moms out there who live with mental illness. I would love to hear from those moms, to find out if – and how – they keep things balanced.

(Photo credit: darcyadelaide. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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Autism and Bedtime: 11 Steps For Not Going Completely Insane

 

The Hyperactive Neurotypical Child

Since the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve got talked into eating an apple by a psychotic snake, women – and to a lesser extent, men – have been pondering the same question. It is a question that crosses all geographic, ethnic, cultural and religious boundaries, one that unites mothers in a way that nothing else can.

How am I going to get this child to sleep?

When there’s a child with autism in the family, that question crops up with frightening regularity. It becomes an automatic response to just about everything. Here’s a typical conversation between husband and wife while the kid with autism bounces on the ceiling like a yo-yo:

Husband: What should we have for dinner tonight?

Wife: How am I going to get this child to sleep?

Husband: Ummm. I don’t know. So, dinner. What do you think? Chinese takeout?

Wife: Sure, sure. How am I —

Husband: Do you want chop suey or chow mein?

Wife (sobbing): How am I going to get this child to slee-eee-eeeeeep?

Husband (fumbling awkwardly with takeout menu): OK, I’ll just order something.

For you autism parents who are feeling a little desperate, I offer you my Bedtime Survival Tips.

1) Make sure you have wine. You won’t need it for the bedtime ordeal itself, but it will a great reward for you to give yourself if when the kids get to sleep.

2) About two hours before bedtime, sweetly ask the fruits of your loins to put on their pajamas. You’ll have to ask both of them about a gazillion times before they comply, so the more lead time you give yourself, the better.

3) An hour before bedtime, calmly talk to the Hyperactive Neurotypical Child and ask him to put on his pajamas. If When he argues on the grounds that his brother doesn’t have pajamas on, explain to him that you need him to lead by example. Bribe him with a donut.

4) Send your husband out to buy donuts.

5) Repeatedly tell the Autie to put on his pajamas, with your voice gradually increasing in pitch and panic. Right before you hit your breaking point, sob with relief when you hear your husband return with the donuts. Armed with your confectionary currency, coax your kids into their pajamas and then give them their reward. Fail to care when they wipe their gooey hands all over the fronts of their nice clean pajamas.

6) Sergeant-Major the kids into the bathroom one at a time to pee and brush their teeth. Do the Autie first. If you do the Hyperactive Neurotypical Child first, the Autie will head for the hills and you won’t see him until next Christmas.

7) Get the kids their bedtime milk. Remember to break a Melatonin capsule into the Autie’s milk, otherwise he will spend the entire night gleefully and vigourously rubbing the top of your head.

8) Channel the days when you used to herd cats and get your kids moving in the general direction of their rooms. Naively believe the Hyperactive Neurotypical Child when he says he’ll quietly try to go to sleep.

9) Kiss the little darlings goodnight and retreat into the living room. If When one of them makes a sudden appearance by your side, calmly shepherd them back to bed.

10) Repeat Step Nine 84 times.

11) When there has not been any activity for three geological eras, you can safely assume that the kids are asleep. Pour some of the wine from Step One into a glass and drink. If you’re feeling really frazzled, cut out the middleman and just drink straight from the bottle.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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Ten Little Teddy Bears And Other Echolalic Utterings

About six years ago, when my older son was almost 4, I got all excited when I heard him say the phrase, “Ten little teddy bears.” He had virtually no vocabulary in those days, and he almost never spoke. And here he was, uttering a four-word phrase. This was indeed a cause for celebration.

Of course, this happened in a simpler time, when everyone assumed that my son had nothing more than a speech delay. The word “autism” had only made it into my personal orbit as a possibility to be in complete denial about. What? Autism? No way! He just has a speech delay, he’ll catch up!

When we got the autism diagnosis, we found out about echolalia, defined by Wikipedia as “the automatic repetition of vocalizations made by another person.” All kids do it at some point, but most outgrow it. Kids with autism keep at it with admirable dedication, sometimes for years and years. The words being repeated may change, but the concept remains the same.

Ten little teddy bears stayed with us for some time, eventually giving way to phrases related to Bob the Builder and Mr. Potato Head.

I used to think that as the frequency of George’s contextually correct speech increased, it would edge out the echolalia, but that has not been the case. George definitely talks more. He has an extensive vocabulary, and although he hardly ever talks in a social context and still cannot participate in a conversation, he does make requests using full sentences. There is plenty of room for George’s contextual speech to coexist with echolalia.

Over the years, we have been treated to song lyrics, phrases from YouTube videos, sentences uttered by teachers and things that have been said at home.

“Bob dropped the eggs. What a mess.”

“I need Dizzy, Lofty and Muck.”

“No pushing, no kicking, no hitting.”

“Well it’s a sunny day. I feel brand new.”

Some of the echolalia is charming, and it’s thrilling to hear my child utter any words at all. But it is a little disheartening to know that a lot of what he says does not have any meaning or context behind it.

The latest echolalia is not charming. It takes the form of a single word – a word that I would not use on this blog if it weren’t a pivotal part of the story.

Fuck.

I freely admit that it is my fault. Although I try my best to be aware of my choice of words when the kids are around, from time to time I slip up with the F-bombs. It happens rarely, but the kid only has to hear a word once.

At first it was simple repetition, and we responded in the same way we’ve responded to all other echolalia: by ignoring it. Sure, it wasn’t fun to listen to this word being said over and over ad nauseum, but for a while, the best reaction was no reaction at all. Many autism experts agree that any response at all, even a negative reaction, can be perceived by the child as positive reinforcement.

This tactic lost its effectiveness when George got wind of the fact that fuck is that most tempting of things: a Bad Word.

We are now dealing with a child who gleefully yells, “Oh FUCK!” and then runs away in fits of giggles.

Ignoring it no longer works. You know that persistence and single-mindedness that many people with autism display?

Yeah. George’s ability to laughingly repeat the word is greater than my ability to ignore it.

Reprimands don’t work, and in fact, just aggravate the situation and make it funnier from George’s perspective.

The only thing left is the dreaded removal of privileges. I really don’t want to go this route because there will be a meltdown for sure, but I may not have a choice.

Unless, as someone on Facebook suggested, he actually uses the word in context. If that happens, I might just throw a party.

How do you handle inappropriate language in your typically or not-so-typically developing children?

(Photo credit: Vectorportal. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)