As many of you know, we've been trying to find a diagnosis for Maura that explains the low muscle tone, delays, crossed eyes, blah blah, yadda yadda, and everything else.

Today, someone asked why I don't get her an autism diagnosis.  This isn't the first time this has been asked, and I thought "Hmm..I wonder just how many people wonder this?"

So, why don't I get Maura an autism diagnosis?

Well, first and foremost, she doesn't fit the criteria. Not even PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder - none other specified.)  To quote Wikipedia's entry on PDD -

Some clinicians use PDD-NOS as a "temporary" diagnosis for children under the age of 5, when for whatever reason there is a reluctance to diagnose autism. There are several justifications for this: very young children have limited social interaction and communication skills to begin with, therefore it can be tricky to diagnose milder cases of autism in toddlerhood. The unspoken assumption is that by the age of 5, unusual behaviors will either resolve or develop into diagnosable autism. However, some parents view the PDD label as no more than a euphemism for autism spectrum disorders, problematic because this label makes it more difficult to receive aid for Early Childhood Intervention.

For those of you unfamiliar with symptoms of PDD (I had to look it up, don't feel bad), they are - and again, quoting from the Wiki entry -

• Difficulty using and understanding language
• Difficulty relating to people, objects, and events
• Unusual play with toys and other objects
• Difficulty with changes in routine or familiar surroundings
• Repetitive body movements or behavior patterns

Now, Maura does have difficulty using and understanding language.  However, the other four criteria doesn't really fit her.  She plays with toys pretty normally, she is social, flexible, and the only repetitive body movement is thumb sucking, which I don't think really counts. 

She actually was evaluated for autism and came back with a "not autistic" diagnosis.  None of her doctors, teachers, or therapists have ever mentioned autism to me.  I've even had her tested for Rett Syndrome, which for the moment is considered on the autism spectrum.

Despite all that, I could actually go to some doctor and probably get some autism spectrum diagnosis.  There's one near us who is notorious for giving them to everyone. 

So why don't I?  Wouldn't it open more doors?  Couldn't I receive more therapies?

Yes and no.

Right now, Maura does qualify for occupational, physical and speech therapies just the way she is.  Many autism therapies are behavioral and social therapies.  Maura doesn't have behavioral or social issues.  She is a happy social girl who will look you in the eye, say "Hi!", and try to join in with what the other kids are doing.  If you showed up at her dance class and tried to pick her out, you wouldn't be able to, because she is sitting nicely with the others, following along well, not causing a commotion. 

And it might open more doors, an autism diagnosis, but it may also close a lot as well.  I worry that if we slap an autism label on her, it may cause a future doctor to not look as closely at her to find out what is really truly going on with her, and write it all off as autism. 

Which brings me to the final reason.  And that is basically, I don't want a diagnosis that isn't true.  I don't want to lie my way into therapies or extra aide.  We manage just fine.  What if by taking that spot on false pretenses, we take it away from a family that really needs it? 

Not to mention that we teach our kids that lying is wrong.  How can we teach them this and then get a doctor to basically lie for us? 

Now, if Maura is actually truly diagnosed with autism someday, I wouldn't have a problem with it.  But right now, to get one under false pretenses just to have some sort of label - well, I just can't do that.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008 5:49:36 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

I hoard towels.

When I use towels, I take them and hang them up on the post of my bed's footboard.  This way, if I need a clean towel, I just grab those.

(Okay, I know some of you feel that once a towel has been used, it should be washed.  My theory is, I'm using it on my freshly washed self, therefore, I can get a couple uses out of them, especially for wrapping up my wet hair.)

The problem is, I tend to hoard the towels.  So instead of grabbing said towels off the bedpost, I get new ones.

Case in point - there are five towels stacked up, one upon another, on my bedpost.

Oops.

This stems from when I was a teenager, living in a household of six people, two of whom were little children.  When my brother was a kid, he couldn't take a bath without giving a shower to the whole bathroom. And it seemed that within a day or two, every clean towel was used up, and sometimes there was a big pile of wet towels on the floor that were your only option.

So I took to keeping two towels in my room.  Maybe it was preparation for college life.  More likely the fact that I didn't want to have my only towel options be either the hand towel or some damp, slightly stinky one off the floor.

Now?  Well..maybe there is still some self-preservation involved.  The need for a clean towel or two.  My children seemed to have inherited my brother's tendency of showering the entire room while bathing.  Heck, I've been known to throw a towel over myself while bathing Miss "Splashy Splash" Maura. 

But five towels?  Hmm. Maybe my poor husband does have a right to complain that I "steal" all the towels.  Apparently, I do. 

Monday, December 01, 2008 9:47:17 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [1] 

The four weeks before Christmas are always busy, especially what with a small herd of children to get presents and outfits for, the extra time it takes to just get through a regular shopping trip through Target, trying to get decorations up, figure out what to get the rest of the large families we both hail from, etc, etc.

This year, to add to the hectic fun, Maura has been signed up for a special four week therapy, Applied Verbal Behavior, which is at the Kaufman Center.  We're lucky enough to live about an hour and fifteen minutes from this nationally known speech therapy center, it would be a shame not to take whatever advantage of it that we could.

Of course, it means driving an hour and fifteen minutes each way every day.  It also meant that winter weather blew in just in time for me to drive through it all.  I've packed a small bag for in case we get stuck in that town, which hopefully I never need to use.

The good news is that gas prices have gone down a lot.  Enough to not make it hurt to drive the Suburban there and back.  I got all giddy the other day, filling up the tank at $1.54 a gallon - cost just under forty dollars to fill up.  Woohoo!

It's too soon to tell if any of this is taking affect with Maura, though her preschool teachers said on Wednesday that she was very chatty and verbal and whatever we were doing, to keep it up.

In the meantime, we also are getting to deal with a stomach bug, pink eye, and a poor bruised up Maura who fell down the stairs yesterday.  She's sporting a nice lump on her forehead and a bruised knee.  And then woke up with pink eye today, which Miriam was nice enough to share with her.  Poor kid. 

Which leads me to a Handy Tip - when Miriam showed us her pink eye earlier this week, I picked up this item, with the hopes that it would help a little until I could call the doctor the next morning.  I didn't need to.  This took care of the pink eye all by itself!  Oh, neither girl has enjoyed getting the eye drops, but they work.  Saved me a couple trips here and there.  Of course, I'm not a doctor, I've not played one on tv, so feel free to consult an actual doctor for advice on pink eye relief :)

Saturday, November 29, 2008 7:12:18 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

In the living room, I hear this soft thudding noise.

I say "Sean, stop jumping onto the couch."

I hear "Sorry." from Sean - who was jumping on the couch. 

No sight necessary, just the awesome powers of motherly deduction.

Now if I could only get Miriam to never screech at a brother again.  Luckily, it's 30 minutes until Parental Happy Hour bedtime.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008 8:00:35 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

Wednesday is Dance Class Day.  I thought this would work out great - Miriam has dance at 5:30, Maura right after Mim's class.  One trip, two events covered, less running around for me, and all just a couple blocks from home.  Even better, two of my friends have their daughters in Maura's class, so I can chat with them. Ooo.  Adult chatter.  How fun!

I did not take into account Maura's absolute love of dancing into this equation. 

So what happens?

About 2 pm on Wednesdays, Maura catches sight of her dance outfit and insists on wearing it. 

Then Miriam gets home at 4 pm, snacks for an hour, then we battle over her hair for fifteen minutes.  She wants it down.  She wants it up.  I'm brushing too hard.  She doesn't like the pony tail holder.  She wants a bun. 

With barely any time left, we manage to get girls into the car and drive the three blocks over and park.  Miriam promptly leaps from the car (dance bag optional) and goes running into the building.  Maura promptly starts shrieking because Miriam has left without her.

From 5:30 to 6:10, I wrestle an angry Maura who doesn't understand why she can't be in the room with her beloved Mim-Mim.  She'll go to the door and shout "Mim-mim!  Mim-mim!", then screech as I drag her away.  At some point, we either go outside (which is less of an option now that it's thirty-something degrees out and not going to get warmer), or go for a walk around the building.

At about 6:10, my friends and their daughters start to arrive, which distracts Maura from torturing me for torturing her.

Then Maura goes happily into dance class and does wonderfully for her time period.  Meanwhile, Miriam spends her waiting time whining to me about how bored she is, are they done yet?, can I go home?  Why can't I walk home?  Blah blah blah.  The Gameboy does distract her for a bit, as does food and snacks.  Despite her hour long snack fest after getting home from school. 

At 7 pm, the fun is all over and I get to take a once again mad I'm keeping her from her beloved dance Maura to the car, where she proceeds to kick and screech about having to leave.

But for those 45 minutes in dance, my girls are extremely happy and it really does make it all worth the while. 

The kicker?  I was informed by the other moms that the two weeks my mother-in-law brought the girls to dance class while we were in Ireland, Maura didn't screech or scream or flail at all.  She was just lovely.  Little stinker. 

Wednesday, November 12, 2008 3:01:45 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

I'm finally getting around to painting the dining room.  It's a lovely muted shade of yellow that makes the room glow in a nice way (unlike the yellow kitchen counters which glow in a bad road paint yellow way.)

Painting by myself gives my mind a lot of time to wander.  Which is a dangerous thing at times.  Amusing at others. 

What sort of things pass through my head?  Things like.

Wow, I'm really good at cutting in.  I don't even need tape, I'm that good. 

My mother would however have a heart attacking knowing how many painting rules I break.  Like the lack of taping.  Or drop cloths.  Or how I decided to not fill in the one crack with putty, just painted it all, cracks and all.

I never thought I'd like the more bold colors in my home.  But I do.  White walls do not cut it for me at all.  I need color.

Maura is watching Dora the Explorer in the next room.  I have a theory that Dora's mom is trying to get rid of her.  Why else would a mother let her child wander through a jungle with only a monkey as a chaperone?

And Dora is obviously a special needs child.  Large head?  That's from hydrocephalus.  Hearing problems explain her loud voice.  And she is definitely ADHD or else Map wouldn't have to tell her the directions three times and yet she still asks us what Map said.  She also must have vision problems.  Why else can't she see the boat that's right in front of her? There's more - this was a whole discussion on a special needs board I visit - but I can't recall right now. 

I do wonder who the lyrical genius behind all the songs in Dora was, and exactly how much he was paid for the the compelling lyrics of the Map song.  Don't know the Map song?  It goes "I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map, I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map, I'm the map!"  Oh yes, genius indeed. 

I can now hear Maura wiping her hands on the tv.  We really need to move it up onto the wall, out of her reach.  I am impressed with the durability of our flat screen television though.  We should do that before Thanksgiving, when the warranty probably runs out.  You know how things always break the day after the warranty runs out.

Back to Dora - I heard some father at the Y asking his son what close was in Spanish and little boy answered.  Which made me think that there will be this whole generation of children who speak Dora Spanish.  Somehow, I don't think singing Happy Birthday to the Big Red Chicken in Spanish is going to get my children into college.  Heck, I'm still trying to get some of my kids to speak fluent English. 

And then I realized that I'm going to need to do two coats to get this paint color just right on the walls.  I'm hoping to just need this one gallon I have.  I bought the paint last year.  Yes, it's taken me a year to get to this point.

Okay, so not ALL of these thoughts happened while I painted.  I'm hoping to paint more during Maura's nap, which may lead to more interesting mind wanderings. 

Did I mention I'm darn good at cutting in around the edges?  And that baby wipes are great for wiping up minor mistakes?  They are.  Can you imagine burly contractors with a box of Pampers wipes? 

Wednesday, November 12, 2008 1:52:50 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

Put Mim on the bus at 7:30. She's perfectly fine except for a minor clothing battle (she was not going to school in striped tights and a floral print summer dress. Not on my watch!)

Her bus drops her off about 8-ish.

8:15, the school calls, says Mim's in the office and she's sick. I do the nice mom "Oh dear", then ask (because I'm suspicious) "With what?"

She's complaining her stomach hurts. Great. One of her usual excuses (the other being her head hurts. You know, things that are hard to prove? Yeah, she's a smart one, our girl.) The secretary also says she looks a little peaked. Well, okay, since Collin did throw up Saturday night, maybe there's some truth to the stomach hurting.

Josh goes and gets her. He walks into the office and she pops right up and says "Hi Dad!" with a big smile. Comes into the house all smiles. Only gets sad when she hears that since she's "sick", she has to spend the day in bed reading. Miriam does love to read, so this isn't cruel and unusual torture. But I do believe she thought she was going to spend her day playing on the computer and watching cartoons while sucking down Sprite

Meanwhile, I'm praying she doesn't prove us wrong and throw up all over the place.

Monday, November 10, 2008 9:15:50 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

Okay, not quite.

I'm home with Vomit Boy Collin, who threw up last night.  Josh took other children to church.  Me, I'm having my own Sunday Service here, praying desperately to God that the plague that has entered our house will be confined to just Collin of the Weak Stomach.

Today, I am going to attempt to paint my dining room walls. I've been really trying to for the past two weeks.  I bought the paint a few months ago.  I've been planning this paint job since we moved in.

But two weeks ago I decided they needed to get done.  So I got out the paint, the supplies, started cleaning the crayon off the walls, when Mr. UPS Guy showed up with my new laptop.  The next day, I woke up with a massive head cold.  A few days ago, I decided to try again, now that I was feeling a bit better. 

Except some budding Picasso had colored on the walls.  Repeatedly.  And some lazy mother never bothered to clean off the crayon because she was just going to paint over it all anyway.  That was when the lazy mother was planning on painting the walls a darker color, instead of the barely there creamy yellow that she ultimately chose.

So this lazy mother has been cleaning crayon off the walls.  She was nearly there when her second Magic Eraser crumbled into tiny pieces.  Two more have been decimated today, on one wall alone.  Good thing I bought the four pack this time. 

Here's to prettier walls, new laptops and non-vomiting children!

Sunday, November 09, 2008 12:43:42 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

I'm watching some "mystery illness" show on Discovery Health.  At commercial breaks, they have a little "this person has these symptoms, what disease do they have?"

I'm getting most of them right.

Yep - between scouring the Internet trying to figure out what Maura has, and watching too many Discovery Health Channel shows on the hopes that some show might have an episode about a child just like Maura, I have learned about way too many rare disorders.

The four years of French I took?  Don't ask. 

Monday, October 27, 2008 12:15:13 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0]