Babysitters

Let’s talk about babysitters for a minute.  Considering the fact that the going rate for babysitting one child with standard care needs is $10.00 an hour now, what the hell are families with disabled children supposed to do? Apparently there is an idea out there that if you give birth to a child with a disability, the money fairy visits the same day and blesses you with millions?  I guess I must have pissed her off because that chic never showed up!

I was lucky in the early years to have older children that could handle their little brother for breaks for work, volunteering and the occasional “date night”.  After my other children grew up and developed their own social lives, the need for babysitters rose considerably leaving me with two choices.  1.  Never go anywhere again as long as I live or,  2. Rob a bank to come up with the money I need to pay a babysitter capable of handling my son.  Don’t get me wrong here,  my son hasn’t maimed anyone yet!  His behavior is not violent towards other people; just himself. The problem is that he can make you kill yourself trying to protect him from himself!  How many people can really truly handle that sort of an emergency coming from a growing teenage boy?

This is what ends up happening in reality.  I have the sitter here waiting with my husband and I (all the while they are adding up that hourly rate) for my son to be still and asleep.  We leave the minute he is asleep safely tucked into his room and run out the door to the nearest “fun exciting place” I can find.   Usually we just settle for a good steak and quiet conversation and sometimes we can get through dinner or our errands before the babysitter calls to say they’ve heard a strange noise coming from my sons room or that he has become upset.  This ends the already hurried and stressful romantic night out and leaves us dashing home to check on what often times ends up being something only the two of us can handle and we send the sitter home with cash in hand for a job not even done.  Sound bitter?  Yup, I am when it comes to that part.   A decent hourly wage for watching TV and not cleaning up after themselves, yeah babysitters can end up as another asshole for the list!  Scenario #2 is worse and usually involves being called home for an episode that they were instructed on how to handle and could have easily handled.  I could go on but it might wreck the reputation of babysitters worldwide and get me banned from all babysitting service posting sites permanently.

When it comes to leaving my son with a babysitter, I go through the same range of emotions that any normal parent does “How fast can you get here? Hurry up I’ve got to get out of this place!”  Which is replaced soon by “You have how many tattoos? You’re from what twelve step program?”  And last but not least “Never mind I’ll just cancel my plans.”

 Now on top of that when looking for a sitter for my son, there is another list of crucial questions to ask:

1.             Can you put an Octopus in a sack?

 

2.             Do you have a sense of smell and can you remove it before you come?

3.             Can you curl eighty pounds of child with one arm while dialing the phone with the other?

4.             Can you thwart Ninja skills?

5.             Can you put faucet handles on and take them back off by yourself?

6.             Are you a digestive expert?

7.             Can you understand non-verbal Ninja communication?

8.             Can you do an “Abs of steel” video for six hours straight?

9.             Can you watch the front door, the back door, the side door, the fridge, the pantry, and the bathroom all at once?

10.         Do you already have a personal injury lawyer?

Well, there are a million more serious questions than that, but you get the idea.  Babysitters are few and far between and hard to come by around here.

The last adventure I had with babysitting went something like this:

I call the potential babysitter on the phone to see if they are available for the day in question.  Babysitter mulls it over and decides to get back to me later.  Much later.  This time I luck out and the babysitter calls back 2 days before the event and says “yes I can watch him”.  Now remember that statement “watch him” as it will come in handy later in this story.

Great!  I am thrilled that I get to go somewhere with my husband and the sitter is confirmed!  Hurray!

Two days pass and my excitement builds for a few long awaited hours of rest and fun!  The babysitter arrives right on time!  Super!  This is going awesome!  Dinner is ready for the sitter and I point out the plate of food on the table.  Now I do the rundown of vital information which doesn’t take very long because this sitter is familiar with the house and my son.  “Nothing should happen or require your attention at all because he is already in bed asleep and all you have to do is listen in case he wakes up”, I tell them.  No problem,  everything’s under control.

So I am out the door for the first social evening with my husband in a very, very, very long time. Out and about enjoying time with each other happens so rarely that every second of our few hours is an absolute treasure.  Every bit of it is soaked up and he and I are all smiles.  The food is great, the atmosphere is great and life feels really really good.  This is when one or the other of us looks at the time and realizes it’s time to head back home.  Ok, well, my son is asleep, there’s been no emergent call from the sitter, no reason the date can’t continue on after arriving home and sending the sitter on her way, right?  WRONG!  Never assume anything.   That is the rule to live by if you’re going to survive.  I walk in the door with my husband still on cloud nine from our time alone.  Giggling and laughing and holding hands soon gives way to an unsettling feeling as we don’t see the sitter in the family room area where the comfy couch and tv are.  Ok, so head down the hall a little faster now towards my son’s room.  This is where I find the sitter engaged in an all out debate with him.   The sitter is trying desperately to convince my blind son into dropping the “present” (we’ll call it that)  he made into a plastic bag that she is holding at the end of her outstretched arms in front of him and offering him some toy she found in trade.  At the same time I notice this, I also notice that the sitter is fighting back a distinct gag reflex.  My son is completely naked, he is laughing and refusing to comply with this strange request and his bedroom behind him is a work of art with every kind of toy and inflatable thing he owns strewn in beautiful abstract fashion all over the room.  The blankets for his bed are in the hall, the clothes he was wearing when I left are in the toy box, the legos are on the bed and the inflatable orca is somehow leaned up against the ceiling fan vertically resting on one tail fin.  To this the sitter stated “I’m having a bit of trouble here”.  Alright, no big deal, my husband and I quickly take over, all feelings of romance properly squelched, my son laughs hysterically some more, the “present “ is removed, he’s put in the tub, the room is put back together and scrubbed and the sitter is compensated way more than the hourly rate, offered a snack (which she declines) and sent happily on her way back home.  (I think there are still rubber tire squeal marks in the driveway from her rapid exit.)  Now my husband and I start my son’s day all over again knowing that it might end around 3 or 4 a.m. if we play our cards right.  I overheard a lady once complaining about how difficult it is to find a sitter that she’s happy with for her nine year old non-disabled daughter.  On the outside I smiled and said, “yes good sitters are hard to come by”, but on the inside I was thinking “oh you have no idea asshole”.

Author Interview

I was recently interviewed on Autism Family Center website blog regarding my book "Autism and Assholes".  You can see the interview at the link below.

Who knows?  Maybe it'll give insight into my twisted and warped sense of humor!

Thank you again to Autism Family Center!  You were a pleasure to work with and I am grateful for the inclusion! 



http://www.autismfamilycenter.com/1/post/2013/10/autism-and-assholes-interview-with-the-author-marie-duke.html

That's not a children's toy!

That's not a children's toy!

Wouldn’t it be awesome if the “Little Tikes” toy company made adult size toys?  Remember the little yellow and red car, the clubhouse, the slide and teeter totter, the jungle gym?  It would be so great if these things existed in adult size!  I, oops,  I mean my son would have so much fun!  Physical play is a big deal to my son so a lot of improvising takes place around my house because he is unfortunately too big to utilize the types of toys he is interested in.  Couches become instruments of climbing and scaling, stairs become bumpy slides, pillows and blankets become huge forts and tents to hide under, office chairs with rollers become amusement park rides, closet doors become vertical swinging objects,  exercise bands become huge fun rubber bands to shoot at people, the kitchen faucet becomes a waterfall (whoooopsie), the coat closet becomes a secret hideout, washing machine a personal sound discovery device, the power tools become noises to parrot, and the vacuum cleaner becomes the evil villain to run away from.

It’s really amazing how much I’ve forgotten, since the son I’m speaking about is my youngest,  how many different types of things my son uses for “toys” that used to be considered, well, not toys.  It’s nothing out of the norm in my house to hear as the family rounds things up for an outing “hey, did you get some toys for the ride?” in which the reply is usually something like “yeah, I grabbed the giant plastic spring, the vibrating massage pillow, the dog squeaky toy, a blob of play dough and a leather combat boot”.  Oh good, that ought to keep him happy for the ride!  Then I get into public and someone sees my son lovingly squeezing a combat boot next to his chest and smiling happily and I realize “clearly this asshole doesn’t understand the true glory of the smell & feel of a leather combat boot?”.

My son once spent over an hour in the shoe department at the local “everything’s in there” store.   You should know that no one in my family was shoe shopping at the time.   We had gone to walmart purchase things for the kids with the gift cards they had received in the mail for the holidays.  After a lot of meandering around the store letting him touch and feel everything he passed, he came upon the leather shoe aisle and this is when my husband and I decided that we better buy something from that aisle with his gift card or permission to leave the shoe aisle would never be granted.  Ok, it’s not just him.  I love the smell of leather too!

Another “take my son shopping trip” ended in a not-so-beloved purchase of a rubber squeezable duck call dog toy.  This one he found after only thirty minutes in a sporting goods store while my husband and another son perused the ammo and gun counter.  I knew I was in trouble right away when his cute little hand reached out exploring the objects hanging from the rack in the duck hunting gear aisle and instead of settling on the quiet stuffed duck, or the silent wooden figurine, or even the nice hat with the duck on top, landed quite decidedly (almost like some sort of radar led him there) on the squeaky, noisy, ear shattering doggy toy.  He fell instantly in love.  The first squeeze of the pliable rubber duck resulted in a loud shrieking that sent him into a little bit of a shiver but quickly gave way to a mischievous smile that kind of rolled across his face.  It was all over from there.  For the rest of the duration of the shopping trip I saw one fellow shopper after another running for cover!  Thank God this was a sporting goods store and most of these people are mentally equipped to deal with “duck and cover” situations but at last the patience started wearing thin and I decided it was time to leave as I saw quite a few more people than usual headed to the gun counter.

My son has a few other favorites that he chose himself from a careful and thorough search of the local department store.  Up and down every aisle he goes carefully touching, squeezing and sniffing every object that catches his grasp.  The favorite aisle besides the shoe department?  The dog toy aisle!  Of Course!  All of those rubber, squeezy, squeaky, smooshy things to really press his hands into and pull and push on!  This is real fun!  Yep!  For him this is complete toy perfection!  For me, it is a constant explanation waiting to happen when the assholes I run into in public want to know why I’m buying my child dog toys or even worse, why am I letting him play with a toy that might of possibly belonged already to the family dog?  Hey asshole!  You have your favorite toys, he has his!  Back off!

The donut of destruction will always be remembered in my house as the most beloved toy.  No match box super highway racer set, no easy bake oven, no nerf football set.  No, the one I will always remember the most when I am old and grey trying to rekindle all the sweet memories of raising children will be the “donut of destruction”.  Right now you’re scrambling trying to remember whether or not this cool toy came out in it’s biggest glory before cabbage patch kids or after G.I. Joe and power wheels jeeps.  Well keep trying but you’ll wear yourself out thinking about it because the Donut of Destruction is actually a leather steering wheel cover that my son drug around with him everywhere he went for about three years.  This was the favorite toy; hands down.  The Donut of destruction apparently could fight off evil forces and sometimes an unsuspecting school teacher very easily if just slipped over the head and arms and worn proudly around the waist.  It seems as though if you wear a “donut of destruction” nothing at all can harm you, and your family can easily go many more places without upsetting you than they can without.  The term “donut of destruction” was actually a stolen phrase from a children’s alien movie my family and I watched that just seemed to fit the situation and became our name for the steering wheel cover that my son loved so much.  That is, until one day, without any written notice at all, he suddenly decided he was done with it and on the search we went for the next perfect toy.

Shopping for toys for my son can be an arduous task.  Trial and error over the years led my husband and I to the general type of things he prefers to play with, but then comes the “destructible and indestructible factor”.  Just because my son might love the texture, feel or sound of an object doesn’t mean he can have it.  He might love it so much he’ll pull it apart and eat it, or he might use it to bang his head on.  So as you can imagine, a lot of things are a part of the decision process when choosing a new toy.  It goes something like this:  “oh honey did you see that?  He would love to play with that squooshy ball” My husband grabs the squooshy ball with all the little rubber furry pieces and begins to pull twist and turn it with all of his might while I stand as a look-out and try to scope out where the store cameras are.  Well, after all, the toy budget is only so big and the E.R. budget to remove inedible objects from the intestines is not big either.  So these things have to be checked out before we waste money buying something he won’t be able to play with safely.  So I’m standing look-out, my husband is still squeezing and pulling and POP!  There goes the squooshy ball that my husband now drops into the bottom of the bin and quietly says, “no that one won’t work”.  Then we move onto the next interesting looking item and start all over again.  My husband strains and strains to see if an object will break, fray, come apart, release small pieces or be hazardous in anyway; I stand guard to keep him from going to jail for vandalism.  I would take this job but my son has become pretty strong so my husband has no choice but to play the part.  So on and on it goes until something is found that after all abuse is inflicted is still in one piece, has all the attributes my son loves and is affordable.  One thing's for certain, if you find a toy or an object that says indestructible on the package, I can tell you right now they are lying.  I’ve bought them all, and they were no match for my son.

At thirteen years old my son built his first unassisted Lego tower using the preschool large size Lego blocks.  I awoke one morning to see about eight Lego blocks laying next to him on his bed put perfectly together into a tower shape.  Laugh all you want, but I cried just as much this day as the day he learned to walk.  This was the first time he had played with a toy and understood or decided to use it for its intended purpose.  I was so excited I made him (after he woke up of course) do it again and again and took a million pictures.  This was a great day!!  Up until this point, my son thought Legos were for throwing at the wall specifically between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m.  Apparently this particular evening, the Lego fairy appeared and explained the situation and now, understanding his mission properly, my son built a beautiful tower!  Of course I called someone to brag about my son and found the usual asshole answering thought this really wasn’t that big of a deal and proceeded to tell me about their ingrown toenail like it was as exciting and tragic as a shark attack.  Never mind asshole “I thought” as I hung up the phone and went back to my son to build some more Lego towers.

The favorite toy to play with in the house outside of his room is the vibrating foot massager.  You know the kind, you’re grandma might have one, or sorry, you might have one.  You plug this thing in and it’s rubbery plastic bumpy massage surfaces vibrate and the little metal balls rotate a million times a minute in some sort of a foot frenzy.  Oh but wait!  It has heat too!  And if you act now, I’ll throw in a donut of destruction and a super rubbery bath mat to wear on your head.  Oh, sorry, got carried away there.  So the massage toy is his favorite when he’s hanging out around the house.  He starts out with this at his feet in the kitchen chair, giggles and laughs while it tickles his feet and slowly, but predictably works his way down until his bum is right on top of it.  Now the real laughter begins.  As you can imagine this is quite the sensation and it’s a wonder why there aren’t one of these in everyone’s home!  Soon enough though he has to be talked back off of the machine as the motor begs for mercy and starts to wind down from his weight.  He even laughs at this part and then back he goes for another foot tickle.

Recently my son has shown a new interest in music.  He has always tolerated it and sometimes enjoyed it to some degree, but the teenager in him is certainly out in plain view now as he continuously is taking my other son’s phone or my phone when he would hear them playing music.  Well it is a happy thing in my house when he shows a new interest in something.  His dad went right to work setting up an old MP3 that just happens to feel a lot like the smart phones the rest of the family plays music on.  Now, his favorite toy is this MP3 loaded with all of his older siblings favorite music.  It’s a chore to get it from him just before he goes to bed for the night.  I hear MP3’s are not good for the digestive tract so this one doesn’t stay in the room at night just so I don’t have to push the child’s belly button the next day every time I want to change a song.  Who’s the asshole now?  Well it’s anyone who tells my son that this MP3 is bright pink and is indeed not a phone.

A chapter from the book Autism and Assholes

Carpet disposal

Carpet in the hallway?

Well there was a minute ago until my son discovered how to pull it up from the baseboard and peel half of the hallway up off of the floor. 

Oooooh!  Carpet padding!  Yummie! 

Quick grab the child, whisk him away to another room whilst he becomes agitated at the stopping of his newfound game.  Now the face punching begins.  Calm him down, prevent head injuries and sooth his stress with a fort (blankie over the head) his rocking chair, a story tape and a big giant stuffed fish pillow. 

Run back down the hall before he realizes I've gone and more unsupervised mischief can be had. 

Put back down the carpet making sure to step firmly with my bare feet on every piece of carpet tacking as I go.  Cuss secretively so the child does not hear and decide to begin speaking for the first time today and repeat the F word.  Trim off strands of carpet that he pulled loose so he cannot unravel the entire hallway later on.  Run back to the child in the rocking chair to find he is not in the rocking chair, but in the pantry eating 3 cookies still in their wrappers.

Bring him back to the office with his large pile of favorite things and try to complete the days work.  Turn just in time to see the desk just before it is completely pushed over as the little guy flashes the cutest devilish grin I've ever seen.  Remind him as I turn the desk back on it's legs that this is not a good idea. 

Go back to work with him seated 4 feet away happily humming and flapping along with his favorite foot massager.  Next it's the end table..........over it goes.  Stand it back up, move him over again, re-offer more exciting toys.

Now the head banging has begun.  Thankfully, God equipped me just before my son was born with apparently very quick reflexes and I get to him just as he locates the door frame and starts to square off with it using his head.  One more concussion thwarted and off we go for dinner. 

It's just time to give up on anything else.

12 slices of thinly sliced turkey, 1 fruit cup fed in alternate bites with the turkey rolled into tubes, followed by 1 cup of vanilla pudding non dairy, to be followed strictly by 1 cup of juice, 1 oatmeal cookie, and 2 marshmallows.

Now the pattern is full and we are authorized to proceed with the evening. 

My house..........My circus...........My life! 

From the Author of "Autism & Assholes"


amzn.com/B00EKRNW7W   

What gives?

Paperwork after school is a must when your child does not speak.  Funny thing is, the paperwork never matches what the teacher says to me when I pick my son up from school.  Why is that?

Why is it that the form that is filled out throughout the day never indicates anything good or bad that the teacher mentions to me?  Which is correct, the teacher or the paper?  It's the aide that writes the paper each day, and when I ask about the activities that the aide did with my son for the day the teacher says "I don't really work with him for that", or "the aide usually handles that part".  So what gives?  Which is the one I should pay attention to considering the information conflicts.

I've confronted this issue before in case you are wondering why I haven't just asked "why does this information conflict?"  I was met with so much defensiveness, discomfort and stuttering that I felt I'd asked a politician about a scandal.

Next paperwork issue brings more confusion.  My son, if you're not familiar with my book or my posts, is blind, developmentally disabled, and severely autistic.  He does a lot of pre-braille activities with his V.I. specialist, a lot of mobility exercises with O&M, and regular classroom activities suited to him.  So why is it when I open his back pack I occasionally run across coloring pages on flat pieces of paper with no braille on them at all?  I'm trying hard to be understanding, and I get the idea of inclusion, but this classroom is where my son is because he is unable to be mainstreamed.  He is unable to participate or WANT to participate in other rooms.

So........this brings me to my point.  I am trying to imagine what benefit my son got while being forced to hold a crayon in his hand while someone else manipulated his hand and pressed it against a piece of paper with a drawing on it that he cannot see, with a color that he doesn't understand.  This is an often enough occurrence to warrant attention.  Honestly, I don't see the point in torturing him to do this one time, much less multiple times throughout each semester of school.  Isn't he in the "special needs" room where things are supposed to be adapted to suit his learning abilities?  Why did my son not deserve an activity that he could learn something from other than "hey lady quit sqeezing my hand" or "why do people think  this is fun?". 

Every time I think that I am too harsh or too hard on the people that work with my son I am shown just one more reason why I can never stop being harsh.  I've set up a meeting at the school with the teacher and aides to discuss some other "more beneficial" activities for my son to take part in while the other children are coloring.  If no one hears from me for a while, I'll be back as soon as I post bail for ranting and raving on school premises about incompetence and ignorance ........possibly laziness as well.

This has been yet another rant from the author of "Autism and Assholes"  Not the typical autism book.

Fish Bowl Syndrome

The Fish Bowl Syndrome

 I sometimes think that there must be some sort of really twisted cosmic rule that all families of disabled or special needs kids have to live out their lives in some sort of “fish bowl” for all the world to see, tap, shake, point at, piss in, criticize, change, or just ignore and dump out.  It seems to me that before my son was born with a disability I could’ve let my other children juggle knives and no one would’ve ever said a word.  I notice that the children that live down the street go virtually unnoticed to other adults in the neighborhood and their parents make decisions for them on a daily basis without scrutiny.  Oh sure, I had times before my youngest was born that I felt like some other person was telling me how to raise my child; but this was more like “are you going to let them jump on that trampoline? Or are you sure you want to send them to that school?  Never was it “I think you are not qualified to raise this child without sending him to a home” or “Why don’t you just give him up for adoptions” or “the huge and very intrusive  specialists staff and I will be at your home in 30 minutes to observe how your son plays in his own home, is that ok?”  I remember how it felt to be able to be a mother without the entourage of critics and professionals or spectators.  Have a disabled child and all of the sudden the solid walls of your once safe haven home are now glass and every portion of your life is now on display for all the world to see, debate, dispute, disregard, or dissect.  Comments are now not only it seems allowed, but required.  Interventions now loom in the minds of family members.  Conversations now exist about your family only to discuss this new ‘tragic’ event and its dynamics and nowhere in this does anyone discuss this new cute sweet child or who he looks like or takes after.  Now it’s socially acceptable for you to be told how to raise your child.  Now it’s not out of line for people to make comments that would never have been uttered before.

To the assholes out there I say this,  I plead this;  So few see my son as a human being but only as some sort of object that stands for the word disability and disorder.  Look at his face, look at his personality; it exists there and he feels it all just like the rest of us do.  This is a child whose entire family has had to fight relentlessly his entire life just to allow him to be treated as something other than a symbol of blind/autism.  We want to live out our lives the same way everyone else is allowed to live out theirs.  Let us exist in our realm of normal and stop interjecting because God knows that there’s nothing completely normal about your life either.

Dear School

Dear School Special Needs Class

I have an idea!  How about you STOP worrying about which one of your procedures I didn't follow over the summer making life difficult for YOU during the school year with my son and START worrying about the things you are screwing up with my son that I will deal with for the REST of my LIFE!

Are you not supposed to be in the business of helping teach these children how to navigate themselves through the life that THEY are going to have?  Or are you instead trying to live in your land of delusions about what YOU think they are going to do?  Whose agenda are you trying to fulfill?  I know it certainly isn't mine, and by the way my son bangs his head on the car window every time we approach the school and shuts down completely right after school I can pretty much guess it isn't his either.

My son will not have the life that YOU have picked out for him.  He will be living here with ME, NOT you for the rest of his life.  He will not be attending college, he will not be getting a job or getting married.  He will be here.........with ME trying to enjoy some quality of life.  Quality of life.........does this mean ANYTHING to you?  Is there no where in your superficial little procedures that you can find room to see that quality of life is important for ALL types of life......including mine and my sons. 

What you screw up by not following parent recommendations, suggestions, and demands will last forever in my home.  This includes the tiniest of things that you deem unimportant.  This includes things you would never even pay attention to if not for BEING SPECIFICALLY brought up by the parents already.  oh wait!  You didn't even pay attention then!

Please think about this while you are enjoying the movie my son and I will never attend, going on the vacation that we will never enjoy, speaking to your kids and BEING SPOKEN TO by your children, and getting a long nights sleep that my son and I will also never enjoy.  I know that you don't make a lot of money doing this so it can't be that you're here for that reason, so what is it?  To prove what a miracle worker you are and dispel the rumor that parents of special needs children know what they're talking about?  Certainly it is not because you were "called" to help the special needs children of the world because if that were the case, you'd be listening to their parents!

Now it's our turn

Ok, the media has had their fun, now it's my turn. 

All of the negative press about the "stresses" of raising an autistic or autistic/disabled child are running wild on the airwaves and internet filling the general public's heads with horrible distorted ideas of what goes on from day to day in the minds and hearts of these "special needs" parents.  Apparently, some people out there have decided that it's a good idea to feel sorry for special needs parents that have harmed their own children.  Some people out there have decided that it is the "stress" of raising children with special needs that would drive a person to murder or abuse.  What, you couldn't find a poor beaten up old lady to blame so you decided on the special needs child as the scape goat?

I can't speak for everyone so I'll speak for myself and my family.  My son is 14, low functioning autistic non-verbal, and completely blind.  He is considered severely intellectually impaired.  To say that our days are "challenging" is an understatement but not in the way the media portrays it.

I wrote a book called "Autism and Assholes" for this very reason.  The world has such a twisted view of not only these kids but of their parents as well. 

Every day you can find forums, discussion boards, facebook, twitter and various other means of communication and networking full of what the rest of the world might call "pissing and moaning" or "venting".  Let's set something straight right now; this is just venting.  It is healthy, it is normal, it is important, and it is human.  No where in any of these discussions will you find a human being that is upset at the existence of their child.  No where in any of these places will you find a parent that places blame on their child for life's little difficulties.  I'll tell you where most of these people (including myself) do place the blame for most of our difficulties; ignorant media coverage and the general population that follows these opinions like sheep.

What we need is support!  We do NOT need speculation about our state of mind.  We do NOT need judgment of our every breath and every move.  We do NOT need "wanna-be" experts coming up with every idea in the world of what we're doing wrong.  Who made the rest of the world judges of our lives?  Who made the rest of the world experts on our mental state?  Who made the rest of the world fortune tellers foreseeing the woes that would soon become us all?  I'll tell you who.......the people responsible for stereotyping special needs care giving and special needs children. 

I can speak for my own life and tell you this; There is no one person in my life that has taught me so much but my special needs son.  He is the person responsible for the changed person that I am.  The thoughtful, kind person I thought I was before he was born was just a package prepared by society showing me the politically correct way to behave.  NOW I am the real deal capable of TRUE unconditional love and understanding, patience, and compassion.  NOW I see what I didn't before.  NOW I am capable of so much more.  It is because of him that I am a better person.  It is because of my son that my life is more fulfilling.  It is because of my son that I love more deeply than I ever did before.

Defensive School Staff

I have four children.  Three of them are grown and all of them went through the same school system that my youngest now attends.  I have called, over the years, so many "parent teacher conferences" for each of them that I couldn't possibly begin to count them.  Given that all of those meeting requests were met with "absolutely, I'll meet with you on _____ date", or "sure, what time can we talk?", why is it a request of the same nature in my sons special needs class is always met with some sort of procedural guideline B.S. being spouted out by whichever staff member at the time feels they are threatened by my request for a meeting? 

I am continuously told throughout the special needs education system that "we all need to work together as a team".  So why is it that there is always at least one (sometimes all) team member that feels threatened at the request for a meeting?

My son is blind, severely autistic, and developmentally challenged.  He is (in his own way) begging my husband and I not to send him to school every morning.  He tries to go back into his room, he tries to just stay in the bath tub all morning, he tries to hide behind the couch, he tries to run the other direction when walking to the vehicle to drive to school.  I was asked " well how do you know it's school that he doesn't want to go to?"  my answer in my head is "well asshole, I know it is school because if I tell him I want to take him to the store to run errands, he walks to the truck himself.  When I tell him we are going to the Post Office, he hurries to the front door.  If I tell him we are going on an outing, he helps get himself ready to go." 

First of all, why question the parents motive of calling for a meeting to figure out why he is so resistant to attending?  Isn't this the parent working in the best interest of the "team" mentality?  I assure you, if I weren't trying to be diplomatic and follow the system, they would know it because I wouldn't "request" a meeting, and I wouldn't say "their might be a problem".  Instead I would say,  "Ok, which one of you assholes is differing from the plan with my son and making him scared to come here?"

I have learned over the years (as I answer my own questions from above) that the person that gets defensive is usually the one that has differed from the ARD, the parents requests, or the child's indicators of abilities or tolerances.  This is the easiest way to find the vigilante!  Call for a meeting!  Not an official meeting........just a "get together" in the classroom to discuss what the problem might be.  Whichever one of the specialists or classroom staff members starts stuttering first or stating that they just don't understand is the one you better focus all of your attention on in the meeting.  Someone's gone rogue at this point and taken your child's progress into their own hands with their own agenda. 

In my son's case, it's "give them an inch; they'll take a mile".  If a specialist finds my son will tolerate one activity that they thought he wouldn't, all of the sudden with no real time for him to adjust, they're off to the races with their own little eager beaver agenda of how much they can get him to do!  Now they can't see the forest through the trees and their over eager approach leaves my son feeling inundated , overwhelmed, and shut down. 

According to them , however, "things are going just great".  Do you know why they think this?  Because by the time the meltdown, shut down, or digression from their activities happens, they are long gone from their 30 minutes with him and are not there to witness the fallout that the regular classroom teacher or the parents see afterwards.............after my son has processed the upset.

I am no expert.  I have 14 years experience raising my son, however, and I like to use the "bucket" analogy to describe some of his tolerances and behaviors. 

I can explain........

Let's say that your body has inside of it an empty bucket.  This bucket is called "tolerance".  We'll call stress "water".  Now every time you experience stress of any kind, a little bit of water is poured into your tolerance bucket.  Some days, it might not take much "water" to overflow your "bucket" on your drive home, because your "bucket" was already almost full from the stress at work.  In my son's case, I hear therapists say all of the time........"well I know I can MAKE him do this because he's done it lots of times before".  This is the statement that makes my head spin the fastest.  Hello?  Bucket?  His bucket was already full when you began this activity, he tried to tell you by pulling away quietly, he tried to tell you by turning his back, he even tried to tell you by punching his head..........what did you do?  You pushed him further because "you know he can do this". You pushed him further because it is more important for you to complete YOUR agenda than it is to actually REACH this child.   Well, genius.........now he can't do anything at all for the rest of the day because you have overflowed his bucket by ignoring his communications and left him overwhelmed and completely shut down.  So how much progress was made for this day in school?  None.  All progress gone;  In fact, we can erase the progress that was made for a few days prior and probably the progress that would've been made for the next few weeks because he has lost the ability to trust that you are "listening" to him. 

"Autism and Assholes"

Constant Judgment

I wrote a book called "Autism and Assholes".  Why? Because since the day my son was born with complete blindness and later developed severe autism, I have become keenly aware of how many assholes are truly out there.  I excluded one major asshole in the book, however, that I feel the need to mention now.  The Media!  The Media Assholes and psycho-analyzers out there spewing piles of garbage about Parents of Special Needs children as if we were all a bunch of tightly bound fuses ready to go off at any moment. 

Constant Judgment is what we face every day.  Our kids have a meltdown in a store.......the whole world's watching.  Our child has a difficult day in school..........the whole school staff is watching.  Our family outing goes haywire from a frightened little one.........the whole world is watching.  All eyes are on us at all times.  No anonymity here!  No, not for us!  Thanks to the stigma that all of the psycho babble about "crack-pot murderous parents" we'll have even more prying eyes to tolerate.  Everyone watching & wondering "is that child acting that way because they are abused?", or "is that one of "those mom's" that I'm going to read about in the news one day?" 

No sir, no normal parenting privacy allowed for us!  If it's not a stare of disgust, or a look of quandary, or a glance of ignorant curiosity, it's a look of mistrust, of wonderment of our mental state and "will we be able to hold up".

Let me assure you we will hold up!  We already have! We already do!  We do this everyday and we do it with love, kindness, patients and gentleness.  We do it with the same unconditional love for our children that anyone else has for their children and probably much more.  We do it all  with an unwarranted jury and judge watching us!  We work harder,  sleep less, pay more, study more, learn more, battle more, cry more, and are judged the harshest! 

We're told we deal with more stress than anyone in the world.........yet the people making this statement don't look in the mirror to realize they are one of the major causes of stress for us!

Now the powers that be and babblers of great gossip have decided to take this up a notch and turn up the glare of the microscope even further.  They've done this by spewing nonsense about "understandable frustration" relating to parents murdering their disabled / autistic children.  They've done this by "victimizing" the very murderer.  They've done this by showing compassion and sympathy for these monsters that commit murder against their own children. 

Now the rest of the world feels an obligation or at least a small urge to "watch out" for those poor special needs parents that could against their own will SNAP at any moment and just decide to "OFF" one of their children.  Let's put this into perspective folks!  A murderer is a murderer!  Anyone capable of murdering their child was capable of doing so whether that child was disabled or not; autistic or not.  This is not mercy, this is not a crime of motherly love, this is NOT an excusable action or at all warranted!  This is just murder.  Thanks to the multiple postings of sympathy and concern for parents feeling such desires, the fish bowl that me and the rest of the loving special needs parents already live in just got even more transparent for all the world to look at and judge.

Is this stigma really what you think will help us?  Too be judged more fiercely and trusted less?  To have  our mental and emotional stamina measured by a the general public that knows nothing about us as human beings or for that matter our love for our children and capacity to care for them? 

The only thing that will help us is for you to call Murderers what they are...........Murderers.  Not victims of circumstance.  What excuse would you have given them if their child had not been autistic or disabled?  Would you have worked so hard to find compassion for what "they" must have been going through to make them commit such an act?  Would you really have the rest of the world believe that special needs parents believe they are victims of their own beautiful children's existances? 

Let's call Murderers what they are!  No more excuses!  I'll keep calling out the Assholes as I see them!

Cabin Fever

Cabin Fever

I’m bored!  Everyone knows what it’s like to hear their child say this after a long day at home with nothing to do.  Now think of the exact opposite behavior.  That is my son.

If my son was allowed to, he would remain in my house wandering through his daily routines and their appropriate spaces day after day after day and be content to never leave the house again for the rest of his life.  This would be perfect!  That means nothing would EVER change!  Wow!  That would be just awesome!  For him yes, but not so much the rest of the family.

So as you can imagine, if you have a child that prefers being at home and has great difficulty in public, you spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to entertain yourself at home.  So, I live at home, I work at home, I parent at home, and my entertainment most of the time is at home.

This makes for some crazy people sometimes.

After a few years of raising my son my husband and I realized that there would be a lot of places and things we could not go and do.  So began our process of collecting everything we needed to enjoy most aspects of life here at home.  The weight room was made complete over the years, the movie collecting began and accumulated to massive proportions, the board game cabinet filled up quickly with all the newest and funniest family games, the video games were purchased, the yard games installed, the at home sports fields designated, and life went on.  Very happily life went on.  After all, everything I need is here, right?  I don’t have to go anywhere at all really.  I even work here!  Great!  Simple and easy.

That’s true right up until you want to pull your hair out if you have to look at the same walls for one more minute. Suddenly out of the blue with no warning at all you feel like the walls are closing in on you and that your childhood memories of being “so bored you could die” have come true and you will indeed die from not leaving your house or ever seeing another human being again.

It sounds so dramatic!  It sounds so desperate!  Well, every once in a while, it truly is.  When the outings are so few and far between that you really don’t remember when the last one was, it starts to wear on you.  So when my family and I see fit to venture out and brave whatever meltdown occurs in the process, it’s a really, really big deal!  This is a special occasion all on its own!  Being out away from the house is like a gift straight from heaven.  So out my family and I go excited about every little nuance we encounter on our great journey! 

I am in absolute rapture watching the whole family enjoy themselves and everyone involved is careful to do everything my son needs to prevent upsetting him and having to return home early.  At this point every member of the family at the same time feels the same emotion.  Appreciation.  Appreciation for absolutely everything around us.  The parks, the stores, the restaurants, the music, the water, the sidewalks, the traffic;  every piece is enjoyed.  This is when the whole family starts spotting assholes!  Look at this pile of assholes out here acting like they don’t understand how lucky they are to be in that store shopping!  Look at this pile of assholes dining in that restaurant like its just some sort of regular event!  Look at that pile of assholes over there not even smiling or enjoying themselves while they buy that ice cream and walk in the park.  How dare they not appreciate this?  How dare they make this wonderful outing of ours seem ordinary or usual.  How dare all of them stare at us in amazement of how much fun we are all having wandering around the city shopping center!  Assholes!  All of them are assholes! (haha)

For more check out the book "Autism and Assholes"

A message to the world

A message to the world that thinks they treat people with disabilities "equally" and as important human beings.

Imagine yourself as you are today with no impairments, no disabilities, no mental challenges, and no emotional struggles of any kind.

Now imagine a horrible car accident caused by some unforeseen event.

Now imagine yourself lying in the hospital bed.  You're now missing your vision due to injuries sustained in the accident. You have difficulty understanding simple phrases and thoughts from the brain injury you suffered.  You have difficulty putting together sentences correctly because the signals just don't seem to travel correctly from your brain to your mouth. 

All is a flurry around you.  The room is full of people that "care" about you and professionals that are "working" to help you. 

You hear topics like "difficult to care for" and "will be a great challenge to help him" and "strain on the family".  You sense emotional discomfort from everyone that speaks around you.  Oh wait!  That's the difference you are feeling the most!  They are speaking around you, not to you. 

You have questions to ask, comments to make, sadness to convey, frustrations to vent, pain to treat, and fear to conquer but what you feel going on all around you is some sort of organized chaos full of well intended people making decisions about you and for you.....but never with you.

Did they think you were dead?  Did they not realize you are right there with full knowledge of what's going on around you?  Did they not think to talk to you or inquire about your wishes?  Why are you not being consulted here?  Why are you being treated like an obsolete third party?  Why do you feel like your life is now in the hands of other people that are not thinking of you, but only of what ways they can or cannot accommodate you?

Everything is different now.  Everything takes 10 times longer to think about, process and act on.  Everything takes 10 times longer to do physically. 

Now you are surrounded by professionals 24/7 that know nothing of how you are feeling about your new state of being.  Now all ideas of what you knew as normalcy are gone.  Now you are dependent on how others view you and how they view your abilities or disabilities.  Now you are at the mercy of every other human beings' sense of humanity or lack thereof.  Now you are either an object of the many crusaders or an object of extreme social discomfort.  You are no longer just you.  You are no longer a non-topic.  You are no longer a regular non-issue person just mottling through life like everyone else.  You are now either a poster child for disabled people's rights or a model of the worlds many inequalities.  You are not just the person you were minus some abilities you had before.  You are not any of the things you were before............at least not to them. 

You still see the same value to your life as you did before, you just need modifications.  The problem is, no one is understanding or willing to make the modifications that you need.  Every one is busy modifying what THEY think you need rather that what you actually need.  Really, aren't they just modifying things to make their caring for you easier on them?  In fact, some are modifying things just because some "LAW" was passed years ago to force them to do so. 

This is your life now............now tell me...........how equal do you feel?

from the author of  "Autism and Assholes"

Trust - The Forgotten Word

I run around in my mind thousands of times every day trying to figure out what the missing component is in the public school system for my son.  Why do I have so much trouble getting him what he needs from the teachers, aides and other staff?  Why do I struggle for him year after year with the same problems that just don't seem to ever stop happening.  I come back to one idea every time I consider the problem as a whole.

Trust;  they do nothing to earn my son's trust. 

My son is completely blind and severely autistic, totally non-verbal.  Trust is an important factor here!  Yet time after time from one activity to the next in the classroom this trust is not only not sought after, it is broken down.

One day the teacher says she will always bring him out the rear exit for end of day pick up.  The next 3 or 4 days she forgets and takes him out the other door and then forces him to walk back through the noisy corridor when she "remembers" that she told us to come to the other side. 

He is told that a particular desk in the room is the place he comes to in the morning and periodically throughout the day yet upon his arrival in the mornings to the classroom, his desk (and his desk only) are covered in the teachers supplies and things for her classroom planning.  When he sits down he wonders "is this my desk?", "did I sit in the wrong place?".

Then there's the furniture rearranging.  Ah the poor bored teacher thinks of some new idea of how to do things and moves things around to better accommodate her understanding of how things should be and in the mean time throws my son into a frenzy of worry and confusion.

He is sensitive to overly loud noises, yet every day the other students in the room have an activity time in which they all gather around a tv screen and "jam" to the very loud music and video on the tv screen while my son sits hiding in the corner.  I once walked into the classroom unannounced during this very time and the teacher didn't at first even notice I was there and when she did, couldn't hear a word I was saying, nor I hear her.  This is the room for a severely autistic child?  This is the planned activity for his classroom?  When I pointed out to her that my son was "hiding", her comment was "oh he's just been happy like that all day!".  What?  you mean he's been sitting there hiding all day?  And this is the demeanor you consider happy?  What school for special needs did you go to because I need to get you your money back!

Now that I've ranted about yesterdays gripes at school I can move on and tell you what I really came here to say.  What is the reason behind school staffs lack of ability to realize that in order to reach my child they have to gain his trust.  In order to gain his trust, they have to provide an environment full of routine and consistency that he can build some faith and confidence in.  It is not until that trust is gained that he can learn to thrive in an environment that throws a curve ball now and then.  He is not equipped to deal with learning new things in an environment that is not conducive to a feeling of trust. 

He needs to trust that they can "read" his emotions correctly and will act accordingly.  He needs to trust that they are not going to continually frighten the crap out of him every time he enters the classroom.  He needs to feel as if these people are willing to enter HIS world just a little bit and understand how things feel and seem to HIM.  How is it that these so "highly trained" individuals that spent years in school studying special needs education cannot understand this concept.  It is their responsibility to conform to his way of learning.  It is not his responsibility to adapt the learning styles of the staff.  Isn't that the definition of special needs?  He has special needs!  That means take special steps to find a way to reach him and provide an education based on his methods of communication and learning.  This does not mean "Make it appear to the rest of the world that he can do the same things everyone else can". 

Trust!  Gain his trust and he will thrive and try all the new things you want him to try.  Gain his trust and he will show you the things he already can do!  Gain his trust and he will finally be in an environment that provides him the ability to learn.  Gain his trust by trusting what his parents tell you over and over and over again.  Maybe then you might gain his parents trust as well!

from the author of "Autism and Assholes"

They Just Don't Get It!

I forget sometimes that I am familiar with the way my life is and the way things are to accommodate my son.  He is 14 years old, funny, adorable, loveable, and courageous!  He is also totally blind, intellectually impaired, developmentally disabled, and severely autistic non-verbal. 

My husband and I took my son to his favorite place (and ours too) on Labor Day for some fun in the sun on the boardwalk and the marina.  After a lot of exploring, visiting some "open house" boats (which he courageously climbed aboard like a pro), we were all starving and decided to give it a try at the steak house tiki hut type restaurant.  It looked great because the dining area was outdoors and anything outside is ok according to my son.  I think he would actually live in a tent outside if we let him.  Since hunger was getting the best we decided to try even though he was unfamiliar with the place and it was pretty crowded.  He surprised us both and did great!  Well, we thought he did great anyways.  I'm not sure the other people in the restaurant agreed and that's when I was reminded yet again of how little I remember life before autism and how other people just don't know anything about it at all. 

We were escorted in to the restaurant, my son in his favorite rolling chair (his travel wheel chair used for comfort on long outings), and took a seat in the rear of the outdoor dining area after the waiter's numerous attempts to seat us close to the speakers and crowds.  We rolled my sons chair up to the table and he knew right away "jackpot!, It's a table, that means FOOD!".  So, out came his handy dandy lunch box from his back pack and my husband and I began feeding him while we waited for someone to take our food order.  This is when our food server showed up. Well, we set him off right away because here we were in HIS restaurant with food we brought in with us.  I gave no reaction to this since I don't personally care if it upsets anyone or not.  My son cannot eat most things on restaurant menus and if they want my business, they will just have to deal with my kiddos lunch box!  Next we really irritated the waiter when he found that we were ordering water and ice tea rather than the more expensive alcoholic beverages that lead to bigger tips.  Whoooopsies!  Well, maybe other people can have a beer or two and still carry an 85 lb boy around, but I cannot so I just stick to the water!  Next the waiter becomes visibly annoyed when my husband and I each order the cheapest thing on the menu and state that we will be sharing the fries with our son off of our plates. 

Then my son had eaten his prepared meal inside his lunch box one bite at a time as we'd fed him  thousands of times before and he decided he was done sitting in his rolling chair and began to slide out from under the seat belt and down onto the floor to relax.  No big deal!  We allowed this because if we didn't it could mean we would be leaving the restaurant long before our food even arrived.  He was happy, quiet, and calm so he was permitted to slip down to the floor, sit cross legged and rock while he awaited the treasured French fries.  I looked up from my conversation with my husband and realized the eyes that were starting to gaze at my son from all around the dining area.  Yep!  We had their attention now!   I was in amazement at why considering there were children running all over the outdoor dance floor and some screaming and yelling while they chasedeach other around.  No one was staring at them.. .No, they just wanted to stare at my son that was sitting quietly on the floor under the table.

Then the food arrived and the disgusted waiter glared at me and my son while he asked if there was anything else we needed.  I thought about saying "a polite waiter", but I bit my tongue, smiled and said we were fine. 

My son smelled the French fries immediately and his little hand reached up above his head probing around the table to find them.  Well, this is tricky since French fries always come scalding hot even though the delicious aroma has already reached his nose!  Now he becomes upset because he cannot have them yet so he takes his arms out of his shirt in protest.  My husband reaches down and reminds him that he cannot take his shirt off in the restaurant and he allows his arms to be put back into the shirt..........momentarily.  He rethinks the situation and then reaches down to remove the pants.  Nope!  That won't work either, my husband reminds him as he pulls the pants back up.  So the fries cooled down, the audience......I mean, um, other restaurant diners, are all watching as my son climbs back into his chair and starts eating his fries.  The attempt was made at one fry at a time until he reached further than we both thought he could and grabbed the whole stack with both hands and starting shoving them all in him mouth at once.  This is pretty normal, and it is discouraged, but hey.....the meltdown that would ensue over removing some of them from his mouth or his hands at this point would draw a much bigger audience than the one we had going now so we let it slide this time.  Alright, so here we were, our son's mouth completely full with French fries, his shirt only on half way, his shoes kicked off sitting and enjoying our dinner.  What's the deal?  There are children running amuck all over the restaurant and everyone is still staring at my son!  I laugh at this because it is typical.  He is behaving himself, and trying very hard to cope, yet all anyone can see is what is different about him from the other children.  Never mind that no other parent is even trying to watch their children.  Never mind the fact that my son has not even made a sound.  Not one squeal, not one meltdown; just patiently eating his fries and rocking gently in his chair.  It is such a shame that no one realized what an accomplishment this was! 

My husband and I just looked at each other with the silent understanding that we always have ;  They just don't get it! 

The Money Tree Died In The Drought

The Money Tree Died In The Drought

from "Autism and Assholes"

As I stated before, the money fairy or the money tree does not just automatically exist in my home just because my son was born with a disability and developed autism.  It just doesn’t work that way no matter what it appears that other assholes believe.  I’ll clue you in here to what I’m talking about with a few stories.

I am in the process of planning a trip on an airplane for the first time with my son in a few months.  This is for a very special occasion that I just cannot miss.  In trying to prepare for this with my son I have consulted with many people trying to gather ideas of how to make this tolerable for him and what tricks or tips the professionals have to offer.  To this I got a response of “just take him on 4 or 5 practice flights before the actual trip” so he can have his meltdowns on the ones that don’t matter and the special trip will go smoothly.  What asshole?  What are you thinking?  Do I look like I have a personal jet in my backyard?  Do I look like someone that recently won the lottery and can buy 4 or 5 airline tickets for 3 people just to “practice” airplane rides with my son?  What do you think this is the trump mansion?

Once I was talking about the air mattress in my sons room to a person affiliated with his care.  The conversation went on with me explaining how I wish there were a better alternative and I hated to have him just on a mattress on the floor.  This person then explained that it really wasn’t that big of deal at all and that there are tons of companies out there they make fully enclosable “safety” beds for autistic children and I could just buy one online and have it delivered.  Well, for once I was really intrigued and went immediately home and began my own self expert google search and that’s when I saw it.  The grand poo-pa of all safety beds.  The king of sleep and peace and quiet and insurer of calm sleep totally free of hazards and injury all for the bargain basement price of $8,000.00.  WHAT?  Are they out of their minds?  Not only is this thing 8 grand but I’m looking at it and already seeing the ways my Houdini could escape it, get out of it or tear it apart!  Eight Thousand Dollars!  So I picture this woman’s face again when she told me of this “no big deal; just order one online” deal and am thinking to myself at this point “ok asshole, I don’t know what world you live in but around here, 8,000.00 is what you pay for a car………not a bed!”  Oh wait a minute……….I’ll just consult the money tree or the finance fairy and it’ll be fine.  Hey wait a minute, I still have checks in the checkbook.  If you still have checks you still have money, right?  (calm down; I’m joking)

Now that we’re on to the topic of money and how it pertains to special needs children and more particularly my son, let me pull out my little soap box……..arrgh, ok.  I am officially on it so brace yourself, this could get ugly.  Wheelchairs;  has anyone priced a decent wheel chair lately?  Or how about those cool weighted blankets that children that crave texture and pressure love?  What about those special swings for $1,500.00 guaranteed to delight your autistic child?  What about just the cost of diapers large enough to fit a growing teenage boy?  How about the floor I replace about every 3 months?  What about special toys with special features that you can’t get anywhere but a special needs supplier?  All of them ridiculously high priced.  Hundreds and thousands of dollars for things that these kids; my son really desperately could use and benefit from.  Special seat belt harnesses $220.00 to keep him from exiting the seat and entering the floor of the vehicle.  Gigantic adult size car seats for proper safety traveling long distances $4,000.00.  Adult size strollers, $1800.00.  You name it it’s in there but you better be independently wealthy or have the most utopian insurance company out there in the world if you want to get your hands on this stuff.  So my question is this;  What asshole decided to make bargain bin toys and equipment to sell at walmart for every other normally physically advantaged child but decided “oh those disabled children, they’re a pain in the ass, let’s make them pay extra for everything they need.”  Graco baby stroller; $180.00.  Stroller for disabled child (way less advanced and luxurious; $1,800.00.  See my point?  Who decided that disabled children were the place to install price gouging tactics?   Even the guy that distributed this products and price catalog to the school room full of these physically disabled children is an asshole!

I had a specialist once recommend that I duplicate everything that was in the classroom somewhere in my home.  I agreed!  I thought this was a really productive and smart idea.  This would help my son learn the same skills at home as he is learning at school. Repetition and consistency was my line of thinking and I was on the bandwagon with this one.  Right up until I found out the cost of just a few of the things I would need to purchase out of about 30.  Yes, I could do this but then I’d have to explain to my other children that they could not go to college, could not go to prom, could not have dental work, could not eat food, and could not wear clothing except out of the donation box down the street.  Sure, no problem asshole……….I’ll just duplicate it.