social learning

Back on the Horse

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

It’s been several months since I’ve written. I’m not completely certain why I’ve had such a dry spell. Certainly life has continued to provide challenges, failures, successes, more questions–with or without answers–and even some adventure.

I have my suspicions, though.

This blog has been primarily about raising Maddie. And in the last several months, although she has provided many an interesting moment, there have been some other serious issues on my mind, and I didn’t want to necessarily write about them.

One is my health. I’m one of those people who always has an issue. Or two. Or three. It’s my back. And migraines. And terrible allergies. And unexplained and ongoing gut issues. And my ankles are messed up. And I have an allergy-related sleep apnea that makes me so tired all the time. I might sleep for ten hours and still feel exhausted all day. It sucks. I’m slowly trying to address all of those things, but I’ve found it hard to say, stick to a Pilates schedule when my stomach hurts so bad all the time. I’m finally figuring that one out, so maybe it’s time for those Pilates classes again. And yes, I have to do something like Pilates where I’m less likely to aggravate my ankle or back or hip or whatever. I have one of those bodies.

Second is my marriage. It’s a struggle sometimes. Statistics show a greater risk of divorce among couples with special needs children. Boy, ain’t that the truth. As if being parents isn’t hard enough, you throw in some extra challenges that nobody’s really equipped to deal with, and you’re rolling the dice.

Third is the other kid. Our son. He’s almost 14. He’s such a cool human being. I’ve been challenged with two completely opposite children, so parenting each one is an adventure, to put it nicely. H is intelligent, thoughtful, philosophical, and deep. Sounds awesome, right? Well, those qualities are admirable and desirable and all that good stuff, but parenting a kid like that is hard. He can argue you into a corner, for one thing. And he never ever gives up. While I admire his persistence, sometimes it’s just exhausting. More on him later, though.

Also my parents. I love my mom and dad. They live about 45 minutes from us. I wish they were closer. So I could help them. On the other hand, they’re not super great at accepting help (like mother, like daughter, I’m afraid). My dad has suffered from debilitating depression and anxiety for many years. My therapist thinks he’s agoraphobic, among other things. The word “bipolar” has reared its ugly head of late. I suspect he has some PTSD from a few episodes from his younger life. Whatever the diagnosis, and whatever the cause, he is severely disabled. He rarely leaves the house. It’s too stressful. Just riding in the car is often more than he can bear. He hasn’t driven for years even though he is only just turning 70. So I worry about my dad. But even more so, I worry for my mom. She is a doer. A worker. A creator. She likes to make things, so for several years she has been sewing items to sell at a local consignment store. Or two. Or three. She also refinishes furniture and makes things like framed chalkboards for kids’ rooms. She cooks up a storm, too. She recently completely re-landscaped their front yard so it’s more drought-friendly. She likes to be industrious. She has also spent her life without a lot of extra money, so when something needs doing, she does it, for the most part, rather than paying somebody else to do it. Every once in awhile, there is something beyond her scope (particularly since becoming permanently partially disabled some years ago because of chronic wrist pain in both arms) and she’ll have to hire somebody. But her go-to is “just do it.” How do a person who can’t do anything and a person who only wants to do things live together? Guess what? The doer, my mom, adjusts her life to suit the other. There is a lot of going nowhere. Particularly because Mom worries about what might happen when she’s gone. Dad’s just not reliably level-headed anymore. I want to help them so desperately, but it seems to be out of my hands. I want my dad to be well and, even if he can’t be well, I want my mom to have a life.

So I’ve been distracted, I guess. And I haven’t felt compelled, or maybe just comfortable, putting all this in writing. I don’t want to “expose” anyone. I also don’t want to make this blog a tribute to all my problems, and most of all I think some of this stuff is kind of private. At least the other parties involved might think so.

And then there’s Maddie. She’s still exactly Maddie. She’s at camp right now, the camp she absolutely lives for the rest of the year. When we were anticipating a New York-London trip we took last month, I asked her if she was excited. “Meh,” she said. “CAMP!” That pretty much sums up her experience of our trip (another blog or two will cover that). She just wanted to get it over with and go to camp. So right now I can rest easy knowing she’s in her happy place. She’s probably filthy and she probably has terrible B.O., but it’s out of my hands, and isn’t that a beautiful thing!

And before that, of course, the infamous school year (the actual “Year of Living Hopefully”) came to a close. More on that in another entry, too.

So today I’m back. I remember now that I can write and I like to write and I have something to say. A lot of somethings to say.

The story continues.

Swimming Upstream

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach1 Comment

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I love to shop. I know it’s stereotypical and not necessarily admirable, but it’s the truth. I love clothes, I love shoes, I love jewelry, I love purses. I also love to decorate my house. I love to buy gifts. If you mention you’re looking for a particular dress, I will take it upon myself to search to the end of Google to find it.

It’s satisfying. It’s a way that I express myself. And even if I’m not buying, it gives me pleasure to look at and feel pretty things. I can visit the Prada department at Neiman Marcus (just because my friend works in the department next door), and enjoy the beautiful fabrics and stunning details and superb craftsmanship without feeling sad for one second that Prada clothes are out of reach. That’s OK! It’s like art to me. Do I got to a museum and lament the lack of a Monet or Rodin in my house? Of course not!

I remember when I got pregnant that I wished so much for a girl. Having grown up with two sisters and no brothers, girls were what I knew and understood. And then at that 20-week sonogram, my wish came true. There was a little tiny girl growing inside me. Boy, we were going to have a good time, mother and daughter, doing all that fun girly stuff together.

And then I had Maddie. Sure she’s a girl, but she’s not especially girly. Which is perfectly fine. I absolutely love her the way she is and wouldn’t dream of changing her, but there has been a little bit of mourning over the loss of some dreams. She’s a lot of fun, but we don’t share many interests. She loves to craft. To me crafting is like getting whacked in the head with a hammer: I’m just glad when it’s over. She loves comic books. I actually do like superhero movies, but that’s about the extent of it. She doesn’t care about her hair or her clothes or her shoes or getting her nails done. At least she likes to color her hair. That’s kind of fun.

The real problem with her disdain for shopping, though, really comes into play when she actually needs something. Like bras. Or shoes. Or swimsuits. Or a graduation dress. I do all the legwork, trying to find something that will fit her rather short but curvy body and meet all her sensory requirements as well. It’s not easy. But I do it. I scour online shops and Target and Old Navy and whatever else I can think of for jeggings with a short rise, swimsuits that cover her up in all the right places, shoes that fit her terrible feet, and most challenging of all, bras that meet her many particular needs. It’s a chore. It could be fun, actually. And today it kind of was.

Saturday we leave for our spring break trip, this year to Mexico. Our week will be spent swimming and reading and playing games together. It’s a week of relaxation and quality family time (I hope). And suddenly, a couple days ago, it occurred to me that the kids have probably grown since last year and might not be properly outfitted for a tropical vacation. So yesterday I somehow got Maddie to try on the few things we could find that would be suitable for warm weather. And I was glad I did. We found two swimsuits that were way too small and a few dresses, only two of which fit. And one pair of shorts.

So here I was, six days before we leave, with a bit of a problem. A hard-to-fit teenager who refuses to shop in need of, all things, a swimsuit. Or two. Or three. Plus some clothes. So my wonderful niece, Rachel, who’s living with us right now, helped me pick out eleven swimsuits on Amazon for Maddie to try on when they arrive in the next couple of days. I have no idea what size she is, so it’s a bit of a gamble. But with a girl who won’t shop and few places nearby that offer full-coverage suits, Amazon was the answer for sure. That’s what I did last year.

And then we spent some time in Target looking for sundresses. I found some great stuff, including a Batman night shirt and a tee shirt with a Dia de los Muertos-style Darth Vader and the words “Yo soy tu padre” on it. Genius. Perfect. Also some comfortable tee-shirt dresses. I was so happy. I felt like we nailed it. I even declared our outing a success on our way home.

And then I presented the dresses and shorts to Maddie. She was not impressed. She was not interested. In fact, she was pretty rude about it.

“I don’t need any dresses,” she said flatly, not looking up from her computer screen.

“Well, you do need a couple things for Mexico,” I said. “Plus I got you a couple other things I think you’ll really enjoy.” I showed her the Batman and Star Wars items. Those got quiet approval. But she refused to even acknowledge the other stuff. Or the effort I had put into it. No gratitude, no sensitivity to my feelings, no real acknowledgement that I had done anything for her.

“I’m not trying anything on,” she announced.

I grabbed her stuff. “Well, then I’ll take it all back,” I said.

“No!” she spat, and grabbed the whole pile of clothes.

“Well, you don’t have to try everything on, but anything you are interested in keeping you have to try on. That’s just the way it is.”

No response. So I left. I don’t know why this particular exchange affected me so much, but in that moment I felt the wind just leave my body. I went from feeling so pleased to feeling utterly deflated in the matter of moments.

I also don’t know why I expected that to go any other way. She doesn’t care about clothes, unless it’s a really cool tee shirt. So not only does she not get particularly excited when I buy clothes or shoes for her, she sometimes actually gets angry. Yes, angry. As if I have wasted whatever time and money on picking out that rather than something she’d really enjoy. Okay, I get that. But this time she actually needed some clothes. (Fingers crossed at least one of those swimsuits works out!) And I took it upon myself to get her what she needs and she couldn’t have cared less.

I realize that’s probably not unusual for a teenager, the lack of gratitude and grace. But perhaps it’s the relentless feeling of swimming upstream that I experience on a daily basis that has left me feeling so deflated after this particular exchange. Deflated. Demoralized. Depressed.

The truth is, she may never develop the gratitude and grace I wished for in that moment. That would require a level of perspective taking that is not necessarily natural for people with autism. She will probably never think to herself, “Gee, Mom is so nice to me I ought to reciprocate, and go to school/try on clothes/clean my room.”

Why do I try so hard? I wonder sometimes. It’s the same old battle inside me: how do I both accept my child and refuse to give up? If you wanted to learn how to ride a bike, but knew the chances were slim that you would ever succeed, how long would you keep trying? Eventually, I suspect, a person would accept their fate and give up. And, frankly, that would be the logical thing to do. How much effort do you put into something that’s unlikely ever to come to fruition? There has to be a limit, right?

But when it’s your kid, there is no limit. How can there be? You just keep going, even if you are swimming upstream. You have to come up for air once in awhile, but you dive back in and swim harder. You accept that it’s going to be a struggle, you accept that you may never ever reach your destination, but you have to believe, at least some of the time, that the swim is worth it.

But sometimes you just get tired. Today is one of those days. My fins need a rest. I need to breathe freely. And I’ll be back in the stream tomorrow. After all, we will have swimsuits to try on.

Life Lessons on Friendship

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Recently I wrote about the stark contrast between the social life of my 13 year old son and that of my daughter. It breaks my heart sometimes.

And then this happens.

Maddie has a friend and classmate named Jordan.* She went to the private school with Maddie and then, at the last minute, showed up at the public high school as well. She’s a very sweet girl with wonderful parents. They are making a real effort to encourage the friendship between these two girls. I am so grateful.

This weekend Jordan’s mom reached out to invite Maddie to spend the afternoon swimming at their house. Not only are these people lovely, but they also have a pool! I call that a win!

At first Maddie was excited. She said, “Well, I do like Jordan. And I do like to swim!”

How wonderful, I thought. Finally Maddie has an invitation to do something with a friend.

And then, this morning, my son decided he wasn’t up for an outing he had planned with a friend. Apparently the idea of bailing out seemed appealing to Maddie as well. So now she wants to cancel. She likes Jordan, but she’s not up for an afternoon of socializing.

“You have no social life!” I told Maddie. “This is a chance to get together with a friend!”

And then she was offended. But that is the truth. The ONLY person she really wants to socialize with is her cousin. She is a lovely kid, and she and Maddie are the kind of best friends all girls should have. They’re kind to each other, and they can be fully themselves. And since they’re cousins, there is a lifetime connection that will always be there. I am so grateful for their relationships.

But I want Maddie to branch out. I want her to be able to make other friendships, especially with girls. I know that she mostly spends time with boys at school. She always has, and I have long suspected it’s because they’re less socially sophisticated and therefore less demanding. She doesn’t have to navigate the complexities of girl friendships. And in a way I can appreciate that.

And then when school’s out, she retreats into herself. She watches her anime show, she plays Minecraft, she spends hours making swords, she’ll go out into the open space behind our house and pick flowers or blackberries. That’s what makes her happy. And all of it is solitary (actually Minecraft often involved online friends, if that counts).

So here I am, very anxious about Maddie’s social life. I want something for her that apparently she doesn’t want for herself. I don’t know what to do with that. Should I help her develop her social skills with girls or just let her be? Am I trying to force something that’s not important or meant to be? I don’t know the answer to that.

I believe that if she went to Jordan’s house today she would have a great time. Jordan’s mom would ensure a good time. She’s that kind of person.

I often try to make plans for Maddie, with her consent, of course. She resists. She’s not interested. Ever. She can’t seem to overcome the idea that even if a friend has very different interests, they can manage to be friends and have a good time. Or even that if she has committed to something, keeping her promise is important. She doesn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, but in the moment her own desires are taking precedence. I’m not comfortable with that.

The word autism comes from the root “auto,” meaning “self.” Her system is focused on “self.” I don’t mean she’s selfish or self-absorbed, exactly, but people with autism have a whole system that is very self-oriented, which is why they often function so well alone and may have difficulty in social situations.

Dictionary.com says autism is “a pervasive developmental disorder…characterized by impaired communication, excessive rigidity, and emotional detachment; a tendency to view life in terms of one’s own needs and desires.”

I don’t think of Maddie as selfish necessarily, but I can’t really disagree with any part of that description. She’s not incapable of empathy at all (in fact, she can be remarkably empathetic sometimes), but it’s not necessarily her first response.

Well, hello! In the middle of my writing, Maddie came up with a great idea. She had called and left a message for Jordan. It was an excellent, heart-felt apology about having to cancel today. She said she was tired from a poor night’s sleep (true) and was terribly disappointed about having to cancel, and wanted to get together another time instead.

And then we had talked for a few minutes about friendship. She is concerned because she and Jordan have very different interests. Maddie likes swords and Star Wars and anime. Jordan likes makeup and other girly stuff. (I am reminded of the time years ago when I took her to Toys R Us, and she specifically said, “I do NOT want to look at the girly stuff.” You know, Barbies and everything else located in the explosion of pink.) It can be challenging for an autistic person to see beyond the obvious sometimes and go deeper.

But I told her that it wasn’t until I was in my forties that I realized something important about friendships. It is unlikely that a single friend will meet all your friendship needs. I might have a shopping buddy who loves fashion as much as I do. And then another friend who parents just like I do, so we can talk about that. I have a friend whom I can call to help with the dogs, but maybe my other friend isn’t a good candidate for that. And another friend whom I go to for advice. We all have deeper connections, commonalities that go beyond what we like to do with our time. That’s what ultimately binds us together.

Those are some deep thoughts for an autistic teen. I realize sometimes when I try to impart life lessons to my kids, they may or may not be listening. Or they might hear the words, but the deeper meaning might not land. Not yet. So I say what I want to say anyway, knowing this great wisdom may or may not have any impact right now. It’s worth a try, I figure.

And then Maddie had an epiphany. We have two extra Giants tickets for next Saturday. Why doesn’t she invite Jordan and her mom?

YES. That is the perfect solution. It’s a way to spend time with her friend doing something they can both presumably enjoy. It’s a fun outing, an adventure. It’s a way to connect with another person over something completely outside of yourself. An opportunity to bond without the superficial differences getting in the way. That is how you build a friendship.

So she made the phone call and left a message extending the invitation. Even if it doesn’t work out, something magical happened today.

I still don’t know what will happen next time a social invitation comes Maddie’s way. This is not a linear path we’re on. There are leaps forward and stumbles back. There are surprising moments of greatness and devastating disappointments along the way.

But the net result is this: I’m proud of my daughter. She’s a good person. She’s growing up. I’m working hard. Sometimes my parenting yields instant rewards; most often I just put in whatever effort I can manage, and then hope our kids grow and mature, or that I continue to learn how to let go of the outcome.

*Jordan is not her real name.

A Sword Story Part II

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

When you have a special needs kid, so many ideals that might have been important seem to fall by the wayside. Getting straight A’s (or whatever) or making the A team give way to things like making a good friend or being accepted. Seriously, that’s what all of us special needs parents dream of. It’s a hard road, sometimes, because we have no control and really very little influence. We try to put our kids in situations where they will have some success, but ultimately other people are involved, and there’s nothing we can really do about that. We try to help, and then we hope for the best.

So last week when Maddie went to school with her well-crafted duct-tape sword, and then came home with requests for two custom ones, I was thrilled. It wasn’t the response I had expected. At all. Wouldn’t you think that in high school, bringing a homemade duct tape sword (or really a sword of any kind) would be the source of open ridicule? Or at the very least a reason for sideways glances and judgmental murmurings?

Well, not only has this not been the case (as far as I can tell), the response has been quite the opposite.

Maddie arrived home from school today while I was out with the dogs. When I arrived home, she was exactly where I expected her to be: flat on her back in her room watching her favorite anime, which, I was delighted to learn recently, has twenty-seven seasons…so far. Every time she announces she has completed a season, I congratulate her on her excellent skills in TV-watching. Thankfully, she’s used to my sarcasm.

The first thing on my mind is always homework, but I try to play it cool and get some information about her day before I dive in to the serious stuff. I’m interested in that, of course, but kind of worried about the homework situation. When I greeted her, I smiled and asked how her school day was.

Her face lit up and she smiled. Big. “Awesome!” she exclaimed. Not just the usual answer of “great,” so I had a feeling something special had happened. She reached over to her nightstand and picked up a piece of paper, then unfolded it and handed it to me. Clearly she was excited about whatever was written down there.

The entire page was filled with writing. And it said:

“Pink and purple. No tail.”

“Blue and red, white tail, no black.”

Six entries in all. They are orders for swords. Six more people want her to make her signature duct-tape swords and bring them to school. I couldn’t believe it.

That truly is the opposite of what I expected. Not only were her swords not met with derision; they are desired. Maddie has something special, and at least some kids (and at least two teachers) recognize and celebrate it.

What my husband and I have always focused on, and desired most for Maddie at school, is the social piece. Sure, we want her to learn and develop herself intellectually. But more than anything we have put our dreams into Maddie having friends and being accepted. We want her to be respected, liked, and admired for the special gifts she has. She’s nerdy in the typical sense, but way cooler than most kids in the most meaningful ways. (Nerds rule, by the way.)

When she was at the private school, ALL the kids were “quirky.” It’s a school for learning differences, after all, so different is expected. For those three years, she was able to break away from the public middle school, especially, and just be herself in a place where there are no mean girls (though still some drama), no cliques, no way to get lost in the shuffle because it’s such a small school. And she emerged from there a young lady with an unusual sense of confidence in herself. We just hoped that confidence wouldn’t be crushed by her return to a more typical high school setting.

So today, the day of the big sword order, my heart is full. I don’t think Maddie sees the larger significance of this event, but she definitely feels something powerful. She feels important, I think. And she should feel important.

So I will happily buy all the duct tape and PVC pipe she needs to fulfill her orders. I envision an entire school of kids walking around with Maddie’s duct-tape swords. I know that’s a fantasy, but I’m going to enjoy that vision while I watch Maddie work diligently to complete her creations. And feeling pretty cool while she does it.

A Sword Story

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

As I’ve mentioned before, Maddie is somewhat of a duct tape savant. If something needs making or fixing, she will brandish her duct tape and insist on using it, for better or worse. Fortunately, now there is a thing called Duck Tape. The silver stuff is for losers. If you’re cool, you’ll use black or white or Hello Kitty or tie-dye or neon orange or green or Star Wars Duck Tape. Or zebra. Or cheetah.

The summer before last, at the performing arts camp Maddie loves so much, she had the opportunity to participate in a sword-making class. The materials: PVC pipe, foam, and–you guessed it–duct tape. There could be no greater match of creative ideas for Maddie than swords and duct tape.

The first one she brought home was covered in tie-dye duct tape. Since then she has made several more, often with bamboo sticks from our backyard or other sticks she finds in the neighborhood. She is inspired by the procurement of the perfect specimen. And she has now added cardboard to the mix. We always seem to have some, so it has replaced the foam that forms the shape around the pipe or sticks.

A couple times this year she has taken a sword or two to school. When she was at her private school, I thought nothing of it. There are all kinds of kids there, and no interest or passion is deemed strange or surprising. I’ve met kids who know everything about trains or presidents, or who can solve a Rubik’s cube in 30 seconds. One of Maddie’s best friends over the years was a girl who not only colored her hair blue and had mastered the art of make-up, but also loved Marvel comics as much as Maddie loves DC. So bringing a sword to school was no big deal.

But I was a little worried about how it would go over at the new public high school. Most of what I know about that school is based on what I’ve heard from other people. It has a reputation for having an atmosphere of acceptance. The kids pride themselves on being “weird.” The students look pretty normal to me, but you never know. It’s all new territory for both Maddie and me.

So imagine my surprise when on our way home from school today, Maddie asked me to stop at the hardware store for some PVC pipe. She needed some to make two new swords for kids at school. A boy named Oliver, whom she had met only once before, admired her craftsmanship, so she offered to make him one. His friend (name unknown) asked for one as well.

I never saw that coming! Not only was Maddie not chastised or ostracized, she was admired! What a nice turn of events.

I have to say, though, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. When Maddie was in fifth grade, she was a “techie” for the school talent show. Only fifth graders are allowed to work backstage, and she was excited to do it. At first, her job was going to be managing the curtains. I was worried about that. She’s smart and observant, but speed isn’t exactly her strong suit, and efficiently manning the curtains was essential to moving the rather lengthy show along. Fortunately, her job was changed before the show. She was to stand off to the left of the stage, by the stairs, wait for the exiting act to hand her the microphone, and then take it back to the other side of the stage for the next act while it was being announced. So most of the time she was just watching the show from just off stage, on a stair landing slightly lower than the stage.

As you can imagine, most of the acts involved music. And my kid loves music. She also loves to dance. And she has little inhibition. So as the dancers and singers and musicians performed on stage, there was Maddie just over to the left, out of the lights, boogying away. She has some pretty groovy moves, and the audience got to enjoy them throughout the show.

I was absolutely dying in my seat. I didn’t expect this little side show. But watching her just being her loose and groovy self made me so happy.

It made other people happy, too. I cannot tell you how many parents approached me in the hours, days and weeks to come to tell me how much they loved watching Maddie, how she was their favorite part of the show. She was just so free up there, oblivious to being watched, just moving her body to the music to make herself happy. It. Was. Awesome.

Sometimes I worry about Maddie’s ability to fit in. Right now she is spending much of her time with a couple of boys. It has always been easier for her to hang out with the guys. They’re less socially complicated and demanding. I wish she had girlfriends, too, and I guess she does have a couple. But she prefers to spend time with the guys. Maybe it’s because they like things like swords.

I really should stop worrying, though. Clearly she can be her true self, and there will somebody–or a lot of somebodies–who will appreciate her for that.

Learning to Read

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

When Maddie was in second grade, we moved out of our house for a year during a massive remodel. When we found our rental, I knew immediately we were in trouble: There is a 7-11 right on the corner and we would pass it every day. I knew to expect requests to stop there for junk food every single time. I’m not obsessive about food, but neither do I want my kids to live on candy and chips. So I made a rule: We could go to 7-11 once a week. We decided on Friday after school. Making a big deal about not going on other days would cancel the Friday plan. I was such a genius!

I was hilariously optimistic about my plan.

One of Maddie’s favorite foods on this earth is Cheetos. She is a very choosy eater, with a small repertoire of acceptable foods. Cheetos are among them.

So one day I had my kids and my mom in the car. I had just remarked to my mom, “Maddie’s NEVER in a bad mood!” That’s mostly true. She’s a chipper kid.

And then, what we now refer to as The Cheetos Incident: Maddie asked me to stop for some Cheetos. “No, not today,” I said.

“Please, Mom,” she said.

“I said not today. We can go on Friday.”

“Please! Please!”

“No, Maddie,” I said, starting to get a little agitated.

“Could we please get some Cheetos?” she repeated.

This went on for a minute, maybe, and I got increasingly perturbed. My voice got a little louder, and I got more and more animated. I was trying to drive and deal with this incessant asking.

“Maddie, I’m getting very frustrated.”

Finally I said, very firmly, “MADDIE! If you don’t stop asking, you will lose screen privileges for the rest of the day! STOP ASKING ME!”

And then it was quiet. I exhaled a breath of relief. I had finally put this issue to rest. I had finally gotten through to her.

And then: “So, can we get some Cheetos?”

“Are you KIDDING ME?” was all I could conjure up.

It was both hilarious and discouraging at the same time.

Years later I would understand what happened.

When she was eleven or so, Maddie had a similar exchange with my husband. She repeatedly asked him for something, and I watched agitation increase as she continued to press the issue. Finally, he blew up. It was a short final exchange, and then he left the room. I turned to Maddie and said, “Maddie, you have to recognize when someone’s getting upset.”

The revelatory response: “Well, how can you tell?”

I couldn’t believe it. It explained everything. She just couldn’t see it coming, even though it seemed awfully clear to me. It was a slow build to a final expression of frustration, and she just had no idea what was coming.

That was a huge moment for me. I finally understood what I hadn’t before: She just didn’t have the natural ability to read emotions AT ALL. Or to predict the likely outcome. It was something we’ve worked hard to teach her. So did her psychologist and her social skills teacher.

So imagine my gratification after a particular phone call last weekend.

I called home at a rather unfortunate moment. My husband was taking the kids to a Giants game. Luckily on the weekends, the whole ferry experience is much easier because the usual commuters aren’t filling up the parking lot. Still, the line grows early, and if you want a seat on the deck, you ought to get there early. I called right at the mad scramble to leave. I talked to each kid and then wanted to have a brief conversation with my husband.

“He’s worked up,” said Maddie.

Yes, he’s worked up! I’m sure he was. It was my sister who pointed out the significance of that simple remark. She remembered the “how can i tell?” story.

I can’t say she can always read people. I mean, who can? But she has come so far.

I’m so proud of her. And so hopeful that she will continue to develop that ability.