Lately, I've been writing such wonderful little stories about Marisa. I'm almost left with feelings of guilt that I'm not writing so much about the difficulties I have with my daughter due to her autism. So here's a story that is a reminder that all is not always well and perfect in my house. Autism is very much still with Marisa, just under the surface, ready to spring forth at any moment when something isn't going quite as she would hope for.
Deep in an early morning sleep, I could hear a high pitched song. Then rapid phrases follow in a disguised voice from some past time. Then its repeated over and over. The high pitched song ... the rapid phrases ... the high pitched song ... the rapid phrases repeated again in that disguised voice that is not Marisa's sweet voice. And I thought, It's happening!
I bolted upright out of the comfort of my dream with the realization that something had to be going terribly wrong in the kitchen. Marisa was up at the crack of dawn every morning, and always followed the same routine. She would dress and then come to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast. But every day is a different breakfast, and I knew that this day she prepared a french toast that wasn't quite right when she made it last night. Marisa wanted to prepare french toast following a recipe she found in one of her magazines. I was busy at the time, so I didn't get to see the ingredients she put together, but later when I looked at the large bowl of liquid she prepared to dip the toast in, I knew something was wrong.
"What's in here? It looks like too much liquid for just 2 pieces of bread?" I asked.
Marisa showed me the recipe, which I felt was strange, because there was 2/3 of a cup of milk for just one egg.
"I think it's a typographical error," I said, "but we'll try it and see how it turns out." I didn't want to disappoint Marisa or toss the ingredients and make her feel bad, so I let her put butter in the pan and proceed to fry the toast. It wasn't going well at all, but she persevered and managed to salvage the 2 slices of wet, soggy toast. I helped by scrubbing the pan clean.
So this morning I knew the toast was soggy, but it was already prepared. The only thing left to do was heat it up. HEAT IT UP!!! OH NO! I knew what had happened before I even got to the kitchen. She had to have put the soggy french toast into the toaster instead of the microwave. Recently, I had told Marisa to warm waffles in the toaster instead of the microwave because the toaster would keep them crisp, whereas the microwave would make them soggy. Come to think of it, Marisa's idea of crisping the soggy french toast in the toaster was not such a bad idea at all! However she wasn't prepared for what would happen if she placed WET french toast in the toaster.
As I arrived in the kitchen, my biggest fear has been confirmed. The french toast was in the toaster. It fell to wet pieces, much of it sticking to the inside of the toaster. Marisa was doing an anger dance and gritting her teeth at me. Then she just started to scream at the top of her lungs ... a scream that was piercing and a reminder to me that Marisa was so disturbed by her spoiled french toast that she just couldn't handle it.
"I need to do it over!" she yelled in between screams and her continued crying.
"Okay, we will!" I answered. I knew that if we didn't do it over, her day would surely be a disaster from this point on. There was no settling for a bowl of cereal once she had her heart set on french toast. And why not redo the toast? It was only 7 AM and she didn't have to leave the house for work until 9:30. This was not a problem at all, and it even left room for a lesson in preparing easy french toast.
"All you need is an egg, a drop of milk and some vanilla. You don't even need a recipe, and you don't have to measure either," I said.
Together we made the new french toast, and Marisa went to work happy.
Later when she returned with her support staff, I mentioned how the day almost turned into a disaster.
"Oh she told us at work all about the french toast, and said she would NEVER make it again," Christina, Marisa's support staff informed me.
It was refreshing to hear that Marisa was able to talk about the french toast disaster, but I wasn't satisfied to learn that she felt bad enough to decide not to ever make french toast again. After all, we had redone it together and it turned out just fine!
"Marisa, there was an error in the recipe. It wasn't your fault. We all learn from our mistakes, so we can make corrections for next time."
And there will be a next time for Marisa to make french toast on her own. Only this time, I'll be right there to watch and make sure it's going well, so that the memory of the french toast nightmare will be erased and replaced with the knowledge that it can be done successfully. If we want our special needs children and young adults to learn and continue to grow, then the word never should not be an option.
Deep in an early morning sleep, I could hear a high pitched song. Then rapid phrases follow in a disguised voice from some past time. Then its repeated over and over. The high pitched song ... the rapid phrases ... the high pitched song ... the rapid phrases repeated again in that disguised voice that is not Marisa's sweet voice. And I thought, It's happening!
I bolted upright out of the comfort of my dream with the realization that something had to be going terribly wrong in the kitchen. Marisa was up at the crack of dawn every morning, and always followed the same routine. She would dress and then come to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast. But every day is a different breakfast, and I knew that this day she prepared a french toast that wasn't quite right when she made it last night. Marisa wanted to prepare french toast following a recipe she found in one of her magazines. I was busy at the time, so I didn't get to see the ingredients she put together, but later when I looked at the large bowl of liquid she prepared to dip the toast in, I knew something was wrong.
"What's in here? It looks like too much liquid for just 2 pieces of bread?" I asked.
Marisa showed me the recipe, which I felt was strange, because there was 2/3 of a cup of milk for just one egg.
"I think it's a typographical error," I said, "but we'll try it and see how it turns out." I didn't want to disappoint Marisa or toss the ingredients and make her feel bad, so I let her put butter in the pan and proceed to fry the toast. It wasn't going well at all, but she persevered and managed to salvage the 2 slices of wet, soggy toast. I helped by scrubbing the pan clean.
So this morning I knew the toast was soggy, but it was already prepared. The only thing left to do was heat it up. HEAT IT UP!!! OH NO! I knew what had happened before I even got to the kitchen. She had to have put the soggy french toast into the toaster instead of the microwave. Recently, I had told Marisa to warm waffles in the toaster instead of the microwave because the toaster would keep them crisp, whereas the microwave would make them soggy. Come to think of it, Marisa's idea of crisping the soggy french toast in the toaster was not such a bad idea at all! However she wasn't prepared for what would happen if she placed WET french toast in the toaster.
As I arrived in the kitchen, my biggest fear has been confirmed. The french toast was in the toaster. It fell to wet pieces, much of it sticking to the inside of the toaster. Marisa was doing an anger dance and gritting her teeth at me. Then she just started to scream at the top of her lungs ... a scream that was piercing and a reminder to me that Marisa was so disturbed by her spoiled french toast that she just couldn't handle it.
"I need to do it over!" she yelled in between screams and her continued crying.
"Okay, we will!" I answered. I knew that if we didn't do it over, her day would surely be a disaster from this point on. There was no settling for a bowl of cereal once she had her heart set on french toast. And why not redo the toast? It was only 7 AM and she didn't have to leave the house for work until 9:30. This was not a problem at all, and it even left room for a lesson in preparing easy french toast.
"All you need is an egg, a drop of milk and some vanilla. You don't even need a recipe, and you don't have to measure either," I said.
Together we made the new french toast, and Marisa went to work happy.
Later when she returned with her support staff, I mentioned how the day almost turned into a disaster.
"Oh she told us at work all about the french toast, and said she would NEVER make it again," Christina, Marisa's support staff informed me.
It was refreshing to hear that Marisa was able to talk about the french toast disaster, but I wasn't satisfied to learn that she felt bad enough to decide not to ever make french toast again. After all, we had redone it together and it turned out just fine!
"Marisa, there was an error in the recipe. It wasn't your fault. We all learn from our mistakes, so we can make corrections for next time."
And there will be a next time for Marisa to make french toast on her own. Only this time, I'll be right there to watch and make sure it's going well, so that the memory of the french toast nightmare will be erased and replaced with the knowledge that it can be done successfully. If we want our special needs children and young adults to learn and continue to grow, then the word never should not be an option.
I, like you, sometimes "forget" about how the autism affects our kids on the simpliest things. However, you always offer just the right intervention for us parents. Your stories are always helpful and inspiring!
ReplyDeleteThanks Laura!
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