Little Specks of Autism

I've been spending a lot of time individually with my daughters, talking to them about Little Dude's Asperger Syndrome. I explained about the spectrum -- that autism truly is a range, and no one person with autism is exactly like another.  We read a book about siblings of kids with autism and talked about the ways Little Dude is or isn't like the kids in the book. Mostly we've been talking about how much Little Dude is like the rest of our family; we're all quirky and probably a little bit on the spectrum of autism.

Cookie heard this as "we all have little specks of autism."

Moments like that are what get me through moments like this: Little Dude has a new thing about "cleaning" every available surface by rubbing a Skip-Bo card on it.  I've tried to get him to help me out by substituting a Swiffer duster for the card, but so far no dice.  I asked Little Dude why he liked doing this. He said he likes the way the card feels. "It's so smoove," he said.

Before bedtime tonight, Little Dude was "cleaning." The bed, the windowsills, the walls, my arms: all had to be cleaned with the slick playing card.  Periodically looked at the card and said, "wow, look how much dirt is on there.  This must be really helpful."  When we gently told him it was time to get into bed, he just kept saying, "I know. I know. I can't stop. I'm sorry it's taking so long."

I get it.  I mean, not exactly the part where he is compelled to rub a card all over things.  But I get the need to complete things.  When I'm working on a project I'll stay up to ridiculous hours because I can't sleep until it's done.  Sometimes I will get on a cleaning kick and it must be done.  Sadly for my house, this doesn't happen very often.  When it does, the Absent-Minded Professor just calmly notes, "I see we're on a cleaning frenzy," and then backs away. 

Because I totally have little specks of autism.

More and more, I see it in myself, my family, strangers.  Not full-blown autism; not something that hampers life to the point of needing intervention.  Just specks of autism.  Our anxiety, our OCD, our sensory issues, our weird selective hearing issues are all little specks of autism.

When the Absent-Minded Professor can't hear me until I touch him on the arm.  (Daddy can't hear you, honey.  Sporty scores are on.)

When the Pork Lo Maniac can't control the volume of her voice as she's going off on some long-winded convoluted story while I'm trying to read a recipe. (Wait -- did you just say there was a live bat in the school cafeteria?  For the love of God, what are you talking about?)

When Cookie finishes her summer math workbook in four days. (Anxiety much?)

When the Peanut Butter Kid comes into my room at 10:30 at night because something is wrong, and she doesn't know what it is. (Um, maybe it's that it's 10:30 at night and you're still up?)

My friend who can only wear seamless socks. (Also known as Toxic Sock Syndrome.)

My friend who needs her house to be spotless before they can leave on vacation. (In case Martha Stewart breaks in.)

The grown-up at the next table who can't stand food touching other food on his plate. (Gaah! The creamed spinach!  It's spreading!)

Before Little Dude's Asperger diagnosis, I was misinformed.  I thought people with autism didn't feel emotions.  That they were all either Rain Man or nonverbal boys spinning wheels on Matchbox cars. What I understand now is this: My son with autism is my son first, a person with autism second.  He feels things deeply but sometimes has trouble expressing those feelings.  He has a neurological difference, not a behavioral problem.

We are all on the spectrum; some of us just aren't as far along on it.  We need only acknowledge the specks of autism in ourselves to begin to understand those who are further down the road.