SWEETYPOO

Um...warning: You might not want to read this if you are new to yoga.

For nine years I was a yoga teacher, co-owning and co-directing yoga centers in New York City’s East Village and New England with my ex-husband. For a variety of reasons, I came to dislike that world. My neurology leans toward the literal -- and black and white distinctions -- and I was chronically unable to reconcile what I saw as rampant hypocrisy by yogis, especially yoga teachers (not to mention yoga studio owners!), with the practice and philosophy of yoga. I came to feel that people in the “yoga community” – most egregiously those in positions of authority -- often used what they knew of yoga philosophy to justify their actions: cruel actions were “awakening people to their own egos,” greed was “removing other people’s attachments,” stuff like that...

But in terms of the teaching itself, I think my biggest obstacle came down to this: while I would be saying the first part of the instruction in a sweetypoo way, I would be thinking the second part (in italics), like so:

“Feeeeeeeel the bliss of being in the present moment…because we are all going to die.”

Sometimes it got worse. Even though I liked and even loved most of my students, there would be pairs like this:

“Let gratitude suffuse every fiber of your being…You know what? You are so totally privileged to be here at 9am in the morning when everybody else is working or worse, and yet you still complain!”

Or:

“Be kind to yourself. Lift the corners of your mouth. Give yourself a hug….we all know that as soon as you leave this room you’ll pretty instantly turn right back into the total beyotch [bastahd] you were before class.”

When I got divorced, I left everything but the kids behind, including the yoga center my ex and I had run together for almost ten years. I haven’t had the time or money to attend yoga classes since becoming a single then working (of the non-running yoga center and teaching yoga variety) mother. Instead, I’ve been practicing at home, which I very much enjoy on those rare occasions when I am able to make the time for it.

The big news for me is I’ve just started back to taking public yoga classes -- on a super-limited basis (two classes in three months)…Guess what? I am having a very hard time with it! Every sweetypoo thing the sweet, sweet teacher says sounds inherently vapid to me, and I keep adding those dreadful non-sweet codas to the sweet sentences the teacher utters: “Now, just let go of all those thoughts…[Oh...Really? Do you think we should just be able to do that so easily? Have you ever actually truly suffered? Been worried about putting food on the table? Worried about being harassed just for the color of your white skin?...Do your children, if they are lucky enough to have enough to eat, get bullied???]”

I know this is totally unfair. I probably even sound bitter and evil! The funny thing is, the rest of the time – when I am not in a yoga class -- I am usually thinking pretty kind thoughts. TRULY! Also, I know the teacher is probably sincere.

Yet the thoughts keep popping up. It’s like when someone tells you not to think about something and you Just. Can’t. Stop.  

So, even though I always secretly criticized people for viewing yoga as a physical thing, I’ve decided to try to just focus on the physical for now -- the breathing and the movement and precise alignment of the body -- since I am clearly still disillusioned with the spiritual side of the yoga world after so many years of seeing people not “live their yoga.”

There’s a tradition of practicing silence in yoga known as Mauna. With Mauna, one practices clearing the brain and mouth of chatter, bringing clarity and peace and spaciousness to life. I’ve actually gone on Mauna retreats (back in a very different reality) and loved them. But for now, I am just trying to be as mentally and philosophically silent as I can in my practice.

What does this have to do with the Full Spectrums? Recently G has been getting up to no good at school. Being sneaky and lying about assignments to avoid the whole new academic success program we have him on. So that he doesn’t fail out of 7^th grade? (That’s another post). And Z has been up to some of her old RAD* tricks too.

As I revisit the whole sweetypoo yoga thing, it occurs to me that I am a talkative, and, yes, sweetypoo mom. Despite my ramblings herein and my scoldings to them, I always think my kids are fundamentally perfect and am prone to telling them so. And G’s teachers and the ex, even Pardner, are sometimes incredulous about my inability to really see and accept the more trifling aspects of G’s behavior and/or character. Z is better at “passing” for healthy outside of the home, and hiding her behaviors, but she, too, could improve her act at school and at home.

It occurs to me that the kids are – consciously or not – adding on to the exchanges we have. Clearly, I am not always getting through to them, as evinced by their actions, eye rolls, &c. -- and perhaps it’s because there’s too much sweetypoo talk! Here, the italics are their add-ins:

Typical praise-fest:

Me to G: “Wonderful Junior, I just can’t believe how much I love you!...Mmm hmm, that’s because you’re my mother.”

Me to Z: “My very own darling daughter! You are so fun to have special time with!...Give me more sugary treats now!”

Here, too, it gets worse, especially with my “famous” advice:

Me: “[G], make sure you remember that if someone is mean to you it is because they are hurting inside...blah blah blah. Heard this before.”

G: Yes, Mom...yeah right”

Me: “[Z], always, always listen to your teacher!”

Z: “Sure Mom...except when you’re not around...”

If it’s my fifteenth philosophical exhortation or admonishment for the day, what should I expect?

OTOH both children truly are happy most of the time, and seem to be on the right track in most areas. They’ve been told enough times which fork to use, and when to say please and thank you, and to wipe, wipe, wipe....At a certain point the ball is in their court, right? So I’ve decided it’s time for me to can it a little bit with the yapping. Dare I say...Let go a little?

You see, the second halves of my yoga sentences above are true. People who get into yoga are usually looking for healing on some level, and they are flawed and broken just like the rest of humanity. Perhaps many yogis are seeking because they are more hurt, broken and flawed than the average person. And then yogic practices can take some time – not hours or days, but years, even lifetimes - to be effective. So teachers and students alike aim with their sweetypoo words toward what they hope is true...yet we do not necessarily live that truth in all our thoughts and actions.

The first parts of my yoga sentences above are sweet...and potentially insipid; the second parts are ugly...and real. Same with what’s going on with my children’s sentences. And I want to change that. Call it Parental Mauna: I want to try to be more mentally/philosophically/verbally frugal (silence being impossible for the obvious reasons) as I can in my practice of parenting.

So here’s my PLAN:

Less talking, more showing.

Ideally, less thinking.

More listening.

In place of lavish praise - more hugging.

Keep it simple.

Let’s see if they notice.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

P.S. Dear readers, feel free to share your own such sentences in the comments section below! I would LOVE to hear them.

*RAD=Reactive Attachment Disorder

TEACHABLE MOMENT

WE ARE NOT YOUR TEACHABLE MOMENT

We are a Colorful Family. When we are out in public, we are usually the ones people are looking at. Because we are unusually attractive. OR, perhaps, because one of the kids is usually doing something "interesting" and one of the parents (usually me - Pardner is a chef, and chefs quite a lot) is usually doing something "creative" to try to channel the "interestingness."

I’ve realized over the years, because I find myself staring when I see families with differences or public challenges, that some people—like me -- look on with identification and empathy.

Some look with scorn and judgment (those guys don’t even deserve this sentence).

But the other group consists of the ones who want to use my family to teach “tolerance” – which feels a little condescending -- or those who (much better) are aiming for respect and acceptance, whether of neurodiversity or ethnic diversity or any other inclusive impulse…

Um, may I just say that being anyone’s “Teachable Moment” can be a wee smidge annoying? But okay, I get it, people.

So here’s my Lesson Plan for this Teachable Moment:

                                           Figure I – The Full Spectrum Family Lesson Plan

Guess what. It's a spectrum. Is yellow "better than" violet? No. Red vs. green: who wins?

Nobody.

Neurotypical's not better than neurodiverse -- and vice versa.

White? Brown? Peachy keen? Melungeon? Different?...Equal.

Orange? Blue? Indigo? Sensitive? Impervious? Female? Male? Trans? “Normal?” Weird?” Can’t tell?

Equal.

Please think carefully before you approach us just because one of us is brown and might not be “mine,” or because one or two of us seems quirky…unless you do so under an equal and inclusive flag.

Whatever we are representing to you, it’s probably not our "fault." It’s not even necessarily that interesting.

There's nothing wrong with us, or at least no more than there is with any other given family. And we all need to learn to get along. Best we do so with the basic assumptions that no one is a specimen and that we are all equally valid members of this funky human rainbow.

Thanks – I needed to get that off our Spectrum.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

An InLinkz Link-up

MY GREATEST SPECTRUM PARENTING SECRET…REVEALED!

I am finally ready to share my greatest Full Spectrum parenting tool of all time: Rainbow Mac n Cheez!

                    

Figure I – Rainbow Mac n Cheez with a FULL SPECTRUM of Vegetables*

What's that you say? That it does not look like mac n cheez? To YOU perhaps...but in the Full Spectrum household Rainbow Mac n Cheez  has, in the fullness of time, become our go-to savory treat. Rainbow Mac n Cheez maximizes vegetable consumption while lending children a pleasurable frisson of eating junk.

The trick is, you’ve got to sneak it up on them. I started over ten years ago by mixing a little bit of store-bought spinach salad into a box of prepared gluten-free, casein-free, store-bought “mac n cheez” mix. By the time Z came along a few years later we had gradually worked up to a 1:1 ratio of vegetables to noodles. Also, we had ditched the gluten-free, vegan thing, although we did try that again later (and Rainbow Mac n Cheez is totally doable GFCF). 

By now the ratio, having increased over time, is more like three parts vegetables to one of pasta. I also toss in chunks of whatever cheese we have lying around once it's all in the pot, since there's plenty of hot stuff in there to melt it. Trust me: it’ll taste gooood!

My daughter has been known to scoff, “What IS that?” when she sees some plain elbow noodles with orange cheez sauce (I admit she will gladly eat it!). Then again, she’s offering, this evening, “Vegetarian chicken with banana yoghurt, peas and paprika.”

Figure II – “Vegetarian Chicken with Banana Yoghurt, Peas, and Paprika”

Happy eating!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama


* Yes, this was eaten - in its entirety -  by the Full Spectrum children. 

EFF

            For “Autism Awareness Month”…which most real live autistic people and parents of kids on                             the spectrum feel should be called “Autism Acceptance Month.”

My friend Heather, @ Changed for Good, wrote a companion piece to this one; please check it out over at: http://changedforgoodautism.blogspot.com/2015/04/day-28-acceptance-is-not-awareness.html

I received this email last month:

[Swan Ayi {Auntie Swan}]

to me

Odd, NH [New Hampshire] Senate just voted to have Autism Spectrum Disorder printed on individuals' drivers licenses.  What's the point of that?

My reply:

[Full Spectrum Mama]

to [Swan Ayi]

EFF you, NH.

Hers:

[Swan Ayi]

to me

Agreed.

This is flat out DISCRIMINATION.

Suppose you heard that from now on all blonde people would be stigmatized in this way? Or all people with depression? Obviously, some blondes (depressed people…) may be precise, single-minded, “excellent drivers,” but others might have trouble focusing, or erratic behavior, or compromised intellectual ability, or – who knows?

Yes, they passed the rigorous driver’s test same as everybody else with a license. And, true, some blonde or depressed people might not need to have this factor listed on their licenses, but since some blonde and/or depressed people are “different” -- and therefore possibly dangerous drivers – the state of New Hampshire needs to make their condition perfectly clear to cashiers, police officers, airline personnel, restaurant servers, and so on…just in case.

No, I am not going to address the possibility that being autistic might affect some individuals’ driving or demeanor. So might being tired, or being an a-hole, or being worried, or distracted…

G’s shift to confidence has been so gradual, so delicate, so life-changingly wonderful. What does a ruling like this tell him and the rest of us on the spectrum, many of whom work so hard for our confidence and accomplishments and inclusion in a neurotypical world? As lame and wrong as they may be, such rules send a strong, potentially devastating message.

I’ll be letting those politicians know where we stand: My family, for one, will be spending as little time and money in NH as possible following this decision.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

BOOTY CRUMBS II

In Booty Crumbs I, which was mostly about how some of us notice certain things a LOT, there was a discussion in the comments about how hard it can be to get some kids with sensory processing differences to notice Crumbs (boogers, dribbles…), on their faces and elsewhere, under any circumstances.

Hygiene is a huge issue in the Full Spectrum household because G

1. Doesn’t notice schmutz, or

2. Acknowledge the necessity of basic, routine grooming,

3. Doesn’t care about either, and

4. Doesn’t have great executive function and so forgets even with multiple

    reminders.

Bottom line, G doesn’t give a rip – and getting him to do stuff like wash his face in the morning or clean giant glops of food off his fingers could be a full time job.

I worry about this for two reasons. First, I fear it threatens his hard-won social belonging. Second, it is part of the underlying sensory overwhelm that G experiences in many contexts – what the Asperger Experts call “defense mode.” G’s general awareness of how/what he feels – physically, emotionally -- can be undermined by an underlying overabundance of sensory and emotional information. 

Before I was aware of how certain experiences and environments affect me, I would feel anxious, desperate, dull, angry, numb – and I’d have no idea why I felt that way, and very few resources to quell these inner (for me – others may tend to lash out) storms…I now know this phenomena is known as a MELTDOWN. Things like unrelenting social interactions, feeling cold or, yes, Booty Crumbs, can trigger overload in me and lead to a wide range of negative feelings that are too big to process unless I am able to remember at that moment why I am having the feelings. I am learning to find environments that better support my neurology – and to take sensory breaks when that is not possible.  

Seeing the differences in G’s awareness and demeanor in different contexts has shown me that he is intensely affected by his environment. That sometimes means that he doesn’t have the attention or mental space for noticing stuff on his body, or doing things to keep his body “presentable.” Just as I’ve begun to address my own sensory and neurological needs, what it might take to create a context for my son in which he is willing and able to attend to his own hygiene routine and general bodily cleanliness without so much effort on my part?

Just the other night, I asked G if he had brushed his teeth.

He said he had.

I felt his toothbrush: bone dry!

Having spent several minutes brushing our teeth together morning and night for the last few years (since the dentist told me this was non-negotiable if G wanted to “have teeth”), and having each of those times painstakingly wrangled him into participating, letting G self-regulate on tooth brushing has been a big leap forward.

I was – maybe I was lacking perspective but – devastated…and mad: “Don’t you realize you could die???? If your teeth are rotten and you don’t take care of your mouth you will get diseases! And you will NOT be handsome!”

Full Spectrum Mama needed to go meditate. (Since G was a baby who needed a lot of support in going to sleep, I’ve tried to practice meditating nearby – usually in the hall outside our bedrooms -- after bedtime. Note: this does not always happen as planned!)  

G walked into the hallway where I sat, then into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

After a few moments, I saw this:

                                       Figure I – The Sideways, and Therefore “Invisible,” Sneaky Peek

He saw me seeing him:

                                                            Figure II – The Seething Meditator

…and went back to brushing his teeth.

How does tooth brushing relate to Booty Crumbs? Well, in both cases, is constant vigilance the answer? Already, with one kid with an attachment disorder, I have to watch the every move of one person in our home. With G, I’ve tried charts, lists, points…and am beginning to conclude that these are not the solution.

My own experience shows that -- for those of us with sensory processing differences -- self-awareness (emotional, social, physical…) may have more to do with finding ways to modulate one’s overall sensory and neurological situation than with the rote learning of ways to manage schmutz. I am in a place now where I am just very much hoping that somewhere in his own particular developmental process he/we will create the mental/physical space in which it becomes possible to note the intrinsic value of Booty Crumb removal.

For now, though, it’s back to brushing our teeth together.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

An InLinkz Link-up

THANKS, MOM/THANKS, SON!

This was written for the “I Don’t Need a Cure Autism Flash Blog.” 

For those who “tweet,” please use these hashtags throughout the day on 4/2:

#idontneedacure, #WAAD

Here is a true story that illustrates how I am trying to raise my son to accept himself just as he is, and to make his own choices about how he might want to grow as a person. I was particularly moved to join the “I Don’t Need a Cure” gang because of having used these very words to my son (before hearing about the blog) just a few weeks ago:

My son G and I were hiking up a local, kid-friendly mountain with the rest of the Full Spectrums -- my Pardner and Z, my daughter. I noticed G’s extremely rosy red cheeks and I knew he was feeling drained.

I remembered having those same red cheeks. I remembered how, as a child, everything seemed harder for me – not just the social stuff (!), but physical stuff like biking or running. I would get very red and work very hard when other people just coasted along or put in a reasonable (non-grueling, -agonizing) effort...

I would try to tell grown-ups how hard I was trying, but they thought I was lazy or out of shape. I had what I now know was low muscle tone, and sensory processing differences that made it super-challenging for me to follow team play. I know it NOW because MY normal course of development resulted in higher, more “normal” muscle tone later in life, and I am now able to see very clearly that I truly was experiencing challenges on a different level than others. I think I am generally a “fit” person now, though team sports have remained out of my purview (perhaps that can be attributed to a complete lack of interest on my part).

I know many activities feel harder to my son than they do to most. While my nine-year old daughter virtually runs up the mountain without breaking a sweat, my 13 year-old son is as red as a beet, even though his general levels of fitness and activity are basically the same.

Perhaps the hardest thing for me as a child was feeling misunderstood. I’ve always accepted difference, even (mostly) in myself, but I’ve never been able to learn to countenance injustice. So I wanted to validate G’s experience, and help him feel understood, in part by sharing with him how he is “sometimes a lot like me as a kid.”

I told him that “Everything was harder for me, when I used to go on family bike rides or runs, or when – this was the worst! – my family would make me join in soccer games.”

I remembered how agonizing those times were – how exhausted I would be, how misunderstood and alien I would feel because I didn’t enjoy the “enjoyable” activities my family shared, and because I felt like they judged me for how I felt, both physically and emotionally…

“I would get super red cheeks, just like you do! I was kinda soft, and floppier and ganglier than I am now. I got stronger and stronger as I grew up. I think you will too.

“Growing up is a process, and everybody does it in their own way. I suspect that for you, like for me, it’ll take a little bit longer for some parts of your brain and body to get in their best shape.”

I explained that my red cheeks and difficulty keeping up came from low muscle tone, a physical difference sometimes associated with neurological differences that made all my muscles have to work harder. I added that it was tough for me growing up neurodivergent in a way that I don’t think it is for him because the people around him and understand and completely, unconditionally accept him.

I thought about how watching my child encounter similar experiences in a very different context has been healing for me, and how grateful I am to be able to show him some aspects of life as a happy, healthy, self-accepting (all relative terms of course!) neurodiverse adult.

We walked a little further in silence.

“Thanks for giving me asperger’s and low tone, mom,” he said, sounding sarcastic and resigned.

I took a deep breath. “Buddy…don’t you like me? Because I like myself. And I like you too – a lot! It’s not that I want you to be just like me, you are absolutely your own person. But the things that make me a little bit different make me who I am and it’s the same for you. You’ll grow up at your own pace.”

“Of course I like you, Mom,” he replied. “But I want to be strong.”

“If that’s what YOU want, you’ll have to work hard to be strong, maybe harder than other people. But you’ll get there,” I assured him. “I promise. You can do anything you set your mind to!

“And once you do get strong, you will never forget how it felt to try that hard and succeed. You’ll always feel compassion for people who are having a hard time and accept and understand people who are different. Those are really good things!

“I like us both just the way we are. We can grow, when we want to. We don’t need to be cured.”

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama