The ocean in april at the Oregon Coast is quite cold--and no deterrent to Sam and Miranda.
Mick has been trying to work with Sam at home since she has stopped going to school. Work is progressing nicely, but I'll save most of that for another post. Sam constantly surprises us with how much she actually knows. I think it is a common problem that people often underestimate both the intelligence and skill of autistic people because of their communication glitches. Because they don't tend to be people-pleasers, often don't look at you while you're talking, and won't do what you ask if there is nothing in it for them, people think the autistic person doesn't understand or doesn't know how to do something. Well, think again.
One of the big goals for Sam, and it's been an IEP goal for a VERY long time is to be able to write her name, address, and phone number. This would come in handy when she decides to sneak off on a walk and ends up in Michigan or decides to attend Mardi Gras but would like to come home. So the two were working away.
"Sam, write your name," Mick instructed.
So Samantha wrote, "Go to the beach."
Because that is one of Sam's favorite places and that is what is important to Sam. Not writing her name for the 6000th time.
Fortunately, Mick was able to say, "In two weeks. Grandma and Grandpa will be here in two weeks and then we will go to the beach."
So Sam obliged and quickly scribbled her name.
Last weekend was THE weekend. My parents were at their condo in Newport, Oregon where the ocean is trying to reclaim the property and my mother was upset by all the shoddy repair work that she thought she could do as good a job herself on (and she could, because if she was replastering, she would redo it until it was done right). It's always a good time at the beach, but this particular Saturday was blustery. Sunday was very nice, but we had written "Beach" on Saturday and there is no negotiating or compromise with an autistic kid--not unless we'd been willing to have one really crappy, unpleasant Saturday while she waited for Sunday to roll around.
Another thing about autistic kids, for anyone not very familiar with their ways, they are very rigid, latch onto routine like a ritual, and once you've done one thing in a certain environment, that is what they expect. Believe me, this has its drawbacks. For example: you take the child to the doctor and they get a shot. From that day forward that child never wants to set foot in that building again. The weekend wasn't that stressful, but this tendency was brought home to us.
We go to the beach fairly regularly. But we don't get the opportunity to go with my parents very often since they live 13 hours away.
So we met my parents at their condo, went inside for a bit and Sam started in on "to the beach...to the beach..." So we got in our cars and drove to Nye Beach ( this is because in its bid to reclaim the land, the ocean has managed to reclaim all the beach access at the condo).
Then Sam and Miranda did their usual. We walked along the beach and after a bit those two ran in. They ran, they sat, the frolicked, and they shivered. I took pictures and somehow managed to not get a one of my parents. I also kicked myself because I'd intended on taking video and left that camera sitting at home and this adventure would have had great video.
Then we walked back to the car--blustery day, remember? And the girls were soaked. Miranda remembered to pack a bag for Sam, remembered to put it in the car, forgot to put underwear and a bra in the bag for her. Oh, well.
When Sam was done frolicking in the water, she'd demanded, "Restaurant. Restaurant car fast."
So we did "restaurant car fast" right to Mo's where we had an excellent lunch. From there, a new twist to our ritual, we went to an ice cream parlor because Grandpa loves ice cream and so do the rest of us. Very good, and entertaining to boot.
Then Sam announced, "Swim? Pool?" Because there is a pool at the condo and that is what we did last time, so by God that is what we must do this time. We'd known that and were prepared. So we swam, we jacuzzied, we'd sauned. Then we were done. So we went home.
My parents came over Tuesday afternoon to visit. They had wanted to get there before Mick went to work. Unfortunately they'd had a phone call while driving and ended up in McMinnville instead of Dallas. I beat them to my house.
They took me and the kids out for dinner ( Sam, "noodles...noodles...NOODLES.") We had a good dinner, a nice, leisurely visit, and then went back to our house for bit.
Sam had a big smile, sat on the love seat and said, "Presents! Presents!" And my mom felt terrible because there were no presents. No presents?
Last time they had been here was October. Sam's birthday is in October and my mom had had some fancy dolls that she'd got at church. She'd wrapped them and brought them along. So Sam had had a present, a very cool present, and now she wanted another cool present.
We explained that there were no presents. Sam got up, left the room, and closed her bedroom door. No presents.
My mom felt bad. Told her not to. Sam usually gets her way, but not always. She'll push it, she'll play you, she's going to see how much she can get of what she wants. But if there are no presents, then she would rather go do whatever she feels like doing, because sitting in the living room and visiting people who have no presents is not at the top of her list of interests.
And so it goes. I have no idea about next time. But we have awhile before we need to worry about it. Presents? Presents?
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