Table tasks

This year I’ve taken upon my daughter’s therapy after a very disappointing (and expensive) year last year. Through the Autism initiative I attended the PECS workshop in February and have since implemented Phase I. Elizabeth’s grasp of it is coming along slowly but I think that has got to do with stubbornness then anything else. Sometimes she will hand a card over to me to request something, but other times when I hold my hand out for the exact same thing she flops onto the floor and acts like I’m torturing her. I’m determined to persist however as a form of communication is one of the most important things to have for some kind of quality of life, especially as she gets older. As I’m writing this Elizabeth took my hand over to the gate that blocks off the kitchen and handed me the kitchen card. I have a special draw for her that is filled with Tupperware, which she just loves playing with. Depending on how well she does the exchange (for example, how much prompting was needed) determines how long she gets to play in the kitchen. This time all was needed was a light touch on the elbow to remind her to give Mum the card.

Another activity I’ve been doing is table tasks. After watching five different Speech and Occupational Therapists over the last two years I decided that I could do a much better job. In her PECS folder I have about twenty different table tasks, these include puzzles, play doh, computer time, story time, singing time etc. I select five of these activities at a time and stick them on a schedule board. Once the activity is finished, we put the card into the finished box. We only sit at the table for about half an hour at a time, which is pretty much Elizabeth’s attention span, which I think is not too bad for an autistic child going on four. I choose activities that she finds fun like singing time and bubbles, interspersed with things she hates like drawing. Since I started these table tasks I find Elizabeth has become much more interested and engaged in what I am doing.

My parents have been absolutely wonderful too. When I go to work they often take Elizabeth either to the park, beach or library. Today they are picking her up to take her to the shops where undoubtedly her Pa and her will get up to some kind of mischief. Yes, Elizabeth still does not speak but she is becoming much more vocal and babbling a lot more and it does not seem long off that she will start saying her first words (her therapist last year told me to stop wasting my money). At school on Wednesday they had a taste testing session and I’m quite pleased to say that Elizabeth tried everything. Considering she was just learning to chew a Clix biscuit at the age of two she has come a long way. So far I do not regret for a moment ditching the therapists, except for those I see as essential like her Physiotherapist for her toe walking. What I can’t provide my daughter the school has stepped in. And of course I still have some moments or weeks where I feel totally overwhelmed, but at least now for the majority of the time I feel more in control.

A Fright

Being such a beautiful day yesterday, I threw the curtains wide and opened the blinds to let in the warm sunlight into the living room. After a short bout of illness, Elizabeth seemed to her old self again, content to play with her toys whilst I updated her PECS folder and downloaded some educational software off the internet. The pace was a nice change to last week. That is, until someone walked past the window giving her an enormous fright. At her destressed cry I raced over and picked her up, her tremblingly little body clinging to me, her wide eyes constantly darting to the window. It had been a long time since she had had such a bad anxiety attack. After a couple of hours she settled back down and starting playing with her toys again as if nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, felt too exhausted to to even contemplate the rest of my to do list.


At 10pm, Elizabeth woke up with that heart breaking cry of hers. I quickly picked her up, but she wriggled out of my arms and started pushing me towards the bed, her eyes once again darting to the window. But once on the bed she just cried more. I tried to take her into her playroom to distract her but her anxiety escalated as the playroom had one huge, bare window to allow the maximum amount of sunlight in during the day. Great, she now had a fear of windows. Taking her downstairs she began to settle, but still wary of the window as if a someone was about to lunge through it and snatch her. My father came over about 11pm to see if he could settle her. It was well after midnight before we finally got her back to sleep. A few hours later, just after 4am, she woke up and jumped out of bed ready to start the day. Feeling like I barely slept a wink I finally dragged myself out of bed and took her downstairs for a warm drink of milk, turning on the cartoons and opening the blinds. She glanced at the window a little warily before getting down to play with her toys. It is now going onto 8am and her fears seem to have been forgotten.

Climbing Obsession

I often wonder why I achieve very little in the way of writing some days, and then I sit down and reflect on my week and wonder how I managed to achieve anything at all. This week is one of those weeks. As per usual, it is the middle of the night once again as I write this. My daughter woke up at 01:30am this time. Feeling a little nausea from lack of sleep I took her downstairs, made her a warm drink, rubbed baby balsam on her chest (the lavender can be quite soothing) and put on the Night Garden with the volume turned low. I then made myself a cup of tea, sat down and just stared at the pages of a book I’m currently reading. This week Elizabeth has seriously had the climbing bug. Whether I’m doing the dishes, or trying to catch up on email, every two minutes I’m pulling Elizabeth off the bookcase or tv unit. So whilst a task would usually take ten minutes to complete, it has been taking thirty. I was at a complete loss on how to deal with this behaviour. When I firmly say no, two minutes later she is at it again and, Elizabeth simple would not grasp the concept of behavioural modifications such as time out. Yesterday my exhaustion went up a notch when from mid morning until late afternoon all she wanted me to do was nurse her, her cries becoming more stressful when I had to put her down to go to the bathroom. Tears streaming down her face I eventually packed her up in the car and took her to my parents. She immediately cheered up and happily bounced on the trampoline for the next half hour. My father of course denied that she had been putting it on the whole time. He calls her his little angel and according to him she can do no wrong. Once home, Elizabeth began her training for the K2 summit once again. I had had enough. Taking everything off the bookcase in the lounge room I moved it into the garage, replacing it with two smaller bookcases that came level with my daughters eyes and thus had no climbing appeal whatsoever. I then moved the tv unit into the far corner away from the wrought iron candle holder that hangs on the wall and everything else within reach of her fingers, re-arranging the two lounge chairs to suit. So far it has been a success and for once I’ve been able to sit down and finish a cup of tea in one go. I mean, so what if the beautiful timber bookcase that has been regulated into the garage was replaced with two chipboard creations, the white laminate standing out glaringly from the rest of the furniture, at least now I’ve got a little of my sanity back. Now, if only I can get her to sleep.

The Butterfly

One of my daughters' favourite past-times is exploring the complex in which we live. Her favourite haunts being the pool and a little alcove, filled with pebbles and ringed with large stones, nestled between two houses. Every other afternoon my Father pops over and calls for Elizabeth through the screen door. Her face lights up and she immediately stops whatever she was doing and takes my hand to help her open the door for her Pa. Putting on her shoes I watch my daughter run after her Grandfather down the road, like two truants looking for what they can get up to next. Suddenly she stops and bends over to scope up something up off the road. Thinking the worse I come over and investigate. Cradled gently in her hand is a beautiful, little butterfly. It alights there for moment before fluttering off.

First day of Autumn

It is another three am wakening and I'm glad for the dampening effect of the heavy rain outside as my daughter runs around the house squealing. I actually don’t mind these early mornings as it gives me guilt free time to read or write for, as far as I’m concerned, the clock doesn’t start until six am. I also love sitting at my desk at this time of night, watching the first blush of morning creep across the sky through the window, that delicious crispness of foredawn, and that earthy new day smell that is hard to describe but which is so full of promise. Occasionally my daughter wanders up to me, patting my leg as she curiously looks up at the computer screen. I pick her up giving her an enormous bear hug, breathing in the earthy notes of the avocado and calendula conditioner I liberally apply to her beautiful long hair each night. After a while she squirms out of my arms and goes back to her toys, which she has managed to spread throughout the entire lounge room. A frog croaks loudly in the drain pipe just outside my window soon joined by a cacophony of calls and whistles of birds as the sun struggles to break through the thick rains clouds. I glance at the clock and realise that it is the first day of autumn. What a wonderful way to welcome the dawn of a new season.