Tag Archives: autism

A Song for the Autistic Soul

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As the start of the school year quickly approaches, my mind is turning toward my little autistic friends at Harmony. Here’s a poem I wrote that gives you a glimpse into their world.

A SONG FOR THE AUTISTIC SOUL
©Tami Brumbaugh

The words struggle to pass your lips
But remain locked inside,
Prisoners behind a pearly white gate.
Thoughts pile up
Tripping over themselves
Forcefully jammed into cardboard boxes in your mind.
Shoved aside and collecting dust
Unopened
Unappreciated
When you just want to be Understood.

If only I could lure the words to my ears
Tempting them with a wide smile
Releasing them from their stronghold
So I could listen and respond.
Instead, silence.
My eyes are blank,
No spark of understanding.
Wanting to relate, but clueless.

I slide a PECs book in front of you
Laminated pictures Velcroed to worn pages
I know it isn’t enough
But it’s a start.
You shuffle through the pictures
Searching for what you crave.

Sometimes you find the picture
Apple
Cheese
Toy car
At last our minds graze each other
The tips of our thoughts connecting.
I honor your request.
You smile
Temporarily content
And my soul soars.

Other times, there is no adequate picture.
Nothing illustrates your desire.
You keep flipping through pages
Over and over and over.
Stuck in the motion.
The pounding in your brain intensifying
As the words hurl themselves on closed doors
Begging for relief
Aching for a response
You can’t reveal your thoughts and I can’t relate.
Shapeless screams erupt from deep within your turmoil.
How did they break through the barrier
When words cannot?
You slam the book to the floor
Blood boiling
And my soul sinks.

I wrap you in my arms, holding your heart to mine,
trying to impart peace
I rock you and whisper affirmations of safety
One day it soothes your frustration, relaxing muscles
The next, it aggravates you more, causing arms to flail.

I sing to you, hoping to distract.
You hum back, pitch perfect note for note.
I vary the tune
You match it with ease, rich tones unbound to words,
Incomplete syllables that speak volumes.
Will music be the key that sets you free?
Full words still snag on sharp white guards
But the pressure is siphoned.
Hope brims as our eyes meet.
For now we will savor our moment of connection
And sing a new song.

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: Appreciate the Little Things

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Sometimes it’s encouraging to be looked at with obvious admiration. I have to admit, it has been a while since my appearance literally made someone’s jaw drop. All it took was for me to alter my appearance entirely—by dressing up as Pete the Cat.

Every adult in the Autism Room decided to work together and wear homemade Pete the Cat costumes for Halloween.  We’ve read the books many times to our autistic friends and have found the cool cat is well-loved.

I walked through our door clad in dark blue and yellow, adjusting my hat adorned with huge eyes and ears. A few kids looked at me in confusion but returned to their table toys. One friend however gasped deep and long, dropping his blueberry muffin on the floor. His fists tightened and rose in the air as his smile grew. He approached me slowly, soaking it all in. My smile matched his as he fingered my oversized turqouise, blue, green, and red buttons. He squatted down to look at my Converse high-tops and peaked behind me in search of a tail. His eyes sparkled when he found the blue stuffed sock safety-pinned to my shirt.

You would think that his amazement would fade as each teacher walked into the room dressed in a similar costume. But no—his wonder only grew. He was in Pete the Cat heaven. Every bit of extra effort was worth it after witnessing his excitement.

How many times have I been like the rest of the class and barely paid attention to the surprises and blessings of life? I want to gasp in wonder at God’s creation and truly soak in the beautiful handiwork surrounding me. Here’s to enjoying the colors in sunsets and the fragrance of flowers. Here’s to listening to the cardinal’s song and feeling the blades of grass tickle my feet. Here’s to noticing the acts of kindness from people passing by.

Thank you, my sweet friend, for being awestruck by my simple costume, and reminding me to truly appreciate the good around me.

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: End Fixations

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Fixations are an issue in the Autism Room. Many of our students will get a thought stuck inside their head that they just can’t shake. It hardens like concrete and becomes an obsession. They often need help moving on so they can think about something else.

One of our little boys went through a phase where he fixated on CD players. He was verbal and would ask about the device continually. He would then check on it during transitions and want it opened. He was mainstreamed into another Special Education class for part of the afternoon, and would immediately walk to their CD player and want to change the CD that was going to be played during circle time. Every two minutes he would be back to open it again. During center time, he had access to train tracks, blocks, cars, puzzles, and tub toys, but there were days were all he could think about was that CD player.

Redirecting him became a constant chore. We tried covering the device with a blanket or blocking it from view with a book. Not helpful. We tried letting him have full access to it for a short time to see if he would grow tired of it and move on. Failure. Finally we had to remove the CD player from the room. Oh my. He had a complete meltdown. Repeatedly. For long periods of time. But eventually he stopped asking about it. One day, we were able to sneak the CD player back into the room.

My fixations are not as intense, but they still exist. I am a very sequential person, and when I’m waiting on something, I have a hard time focusing on anything else. I’ve been waiting on an answer for several weeks now, and find myself checking my phone, email, and the internet over and over every day. Most of my conversations morph into my desire for an answer.

Thinking about my autistic friend reminds me that I need to control my thoughts before they become obsessive. I can check for a response once a day. After that, I should redirect my thoughts and find joy in the present. I will strive to treat my fixation like the CD player and remove it from the room. Anybody else have an obsession that needs to go?

Lesson Learned in the Autism Room: Lower Stress

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In the Autism Room, each student has certain activities that are calming and sometimes prevent tantrums. For some it’s drawing, for others it’s looking at books based on numbers. Some students like to put magnetic letters in order.

One sweet boy loves to play with sensory rice. We have several clear plastic tubs the size of a shoebox that are partially filled with rice. Some tubs also have sand mixed in. Each tub has an assortment of scoops, spoons, or paintbrushes. There are often small plastic toys or shells in the mix.

My friend loves to stir and scoop the rice back and forth in the tub. Sometimes he’ll bury toys or his hands. Even if he was frustrated and screaming moments before, he quickly calms down when he has access to the sensory tub.

He reminds me that we all need to find what lowers our stress and use it to stay happy and healthy. I just completed a summer conference for teachers. One of the classes focused on calming the raging storms of stress. The presenter (LeAnn Nickelsen) informed us that life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you respond to it. We need to have a stress toolbox that we can use to manage our stress. Some tools she suggested included exercise, finding your passion, writing, visualization, breathing, and listening to relaxing music. One song in particular that is specifically designed for relaxation (and recommended by neuroscientists) is “Weightless” by Marconi Union. I am listening to it right now, and find it very relaxing. Feel free to check it out.

I’m thankful for the reminder to take time to find something relaxing to lower my stress. Experts agree with you, my little autistic friend. So keep playing with the rice. I will listen to music. And we will both be healthier because of it.

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: Think Outside the Box

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Many of our students eat their breakfast in the Autism Room. They sit on wooden or plastic chairs scooted up close to a round table. Some of our kids have digestive issues, so they drink almond milk, or have to eat gluten free muffins or cereal. Some have to be convinced to try eating anything beyond cheesy Goldfish or Veggie Straws.

One of our students will eat most foods, but he often does it with his own style. A few days ago, he was served apple juice, Apple Jacks cereal, and peaches. He pushed the peaches aside, not enjoying the taste or the sticky finger risk. He asked for assistance opening his cartoon of juice, and quickly began peeling the paper wrapper off his skinny straw. Once he jammed the straw into the juice carton, he set to work. One by one, he slid the Apple Jacks cereal onto his straw until it was completely covered. Only then would he sip the juice while nibbling on the cereal.

Observing the kids around him eating cereal from a bowl with a spoon, or directly from an individualized bag did not detour him from his creative method. He made me wonder: How many times have I done something in a particular way just because that’s how those around me are doing it?

There are moments when doing the same thing the same way as everyone else makes sense, or might even be required. But there are also times when we can stretch our creativity muscles. We can let our uniqueness bubble to the surface. Why not make life more interesting?

So keep stacking those Apple Jacks on your straw, my friend. Thank you for the reminder that we can be creative in a bowl and spoon environment.

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: Releasing Anger

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Explosions are part of the Autism Room. Anger explosions, that is. Many of our students have short fuses and it doesn’t take much to light them. An intricate Lego tower could topple. A schedule could change. A piece of banana bread could be torn in half. Play could be interrupted with work. Suddenly, a student may start beating his chest and screaming, or throwing himself on the floor kicking, or trying to hit his head on the wall.

We teach our students how to deal with their anger. We help them squeeze their hands together, or hit the table with their hands, or stomp the floor. They can also choose a calming strategy such as breathing exercises, climbing into a body sock (similar to a sleeping bag but made out of thin Lycra material), or going to a safe spot with pillows and books.

We must act quickly or the explosion could last for a long time. If the kids release their anger constructively right away, they can often move on and still have a productive day.

So how do I apply this to my life? It’s better to deal with anger in a healthy way right from the start so I can move on. I generally have a long fuse, but recently I had some disappointing news that wrecked havoc on my future plans. I tried to carry on as if nothing was wrong, but I’ve found my fuse is still sizzling and I’m not happy. I need to deal with my anger so I can find joy again.

How am I choosing to do that? I’m sitting on a beach towel in a secluded part of a park (while waiting for my daughter’s friend outing to end). Only my dog can see me. I’m writing (my greatest release) and literally stomping my feet and pounding the ground. Don’t judge me—it really does help. I still have some huge question marks, but at least my pressure valve has been twisted off and I can release my anger.

Thank you for the reminder, my autistic friends. I’m practicing what I preach—and I feel better.

Lessons learned in the Autism Room: There’s Always Something to Sing About

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Our Autism Room is brimming with interesting sounds. Many of our students enter our room at three years of age and leave when they are ready for kindergarten. They often start out as nonverbal, so you might assume the room is quiet. Not so.

Most of the time, you hear adult voices modeling words and young voices trying to talk. Each student receives one-on-one personalized training, so with eighteen people, it can get loud. Sometimes you hear screams of frustration (from the kids, not the adults—though our patience is also tested). Occasionally, you hear singing (from the kids AND the adults). Maybe it’s because of my years as a music teacher, but hearing little ones sing brightens my day.

There is one small boy in particular whose singing makes me smile. He hasn’t started talking yet, but that doesn’t stop him from sharing the song in his heart. Sometimes he hums. Other times he uses sounds like “duh-gah duh-gah” to fit the tune. His singing is contagious and I often join in. I’ve found that both of us feel better afterwards.

What does he sing about? I’m not always sure, but sometimes I recognize the song. His favorites include You Are My Sunshine, We Are the Champions, Here I Come to Worship, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I’m guessing many of his tunes are originals that he composed.

He reminds me that there is always a reason to sing. We all have challenges and go through hard times. If we focus on the bad, we can easily become depressed. But if we look for the good, we will find something to sing about. Our grateful attitude will seep out through a song or a smile and spread to others. Why add complaining to a noisy room, when we can be singing?

So keep singing, sweet boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if music opens the door to your vocabulary. Either way, thank you for reminding me (and now others) that there is always something to sing about.

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: Overthinking

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Once the last crumbs from lunch are wiped away and sticky fingers are washed, the students in the Autism Room gather for stories and songs. They sit in chairs on a huge blue rug with an alphabet border—that is turned upside-down if the children obsess over the letters.

Wiggles are temporarily on hold IF the picture book read captures their interest. (And even then, we have at least one student who will have to be redirected to his chair repeatedly.) When the story is over, we present a laminated piece of construction paper that has song pictures attached with Velcro. Each child gets to pull off the picture of the song they want to sing.

One particular child chose the song If You’re Happy and You Know It. Remember that one? Yes, we still sing it. We began the song with the typical “if you’re happy and you know it clap your hands” complete with the clapping. We soon progressed to “if you’re happy and you know it stomp your feet”. We then asked our verbal kids for the next motion suggestion, expecting the usual “shout hooray” or add-ons such as “pat your head”. No one responded. We started the song again. “If you’re happy and you know it…” After a long pause, one of our students cocked his head to the side and said, “Smile.”

Well, yeah.

Sometimes a good answer is right in front of us. Why overthink it? I’m asking myself this question too because I tend to overthink everything. It’s enough to drive me (and my husband) crazy. My decision-making process can be long and stressful, often leading to analysis paralysis.

What can we do about overthinking? I’m going to start by asking myself, “Is this going to matter next month or next year?” If the answer is “not really” then I’ll give myself one minute to stop my brain wheels from spinning. If the answer is “yes” then I’ll allow ten minutes, but then remind myself that I can’t control everything and it’s time to let it go for the day. It’s worth trying.

So thank you for the reminder, little friend. And when I’m happy and I know it I will smile.

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: Hug Healing

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One of our little boys in the Autism Room hugs so hard I fear my ribs could crack. He wraps his arms around my neck and his legs around my belly and squeezes with every ounce of strength he possesses until his limbs actually shake from the effort. Do I mind? Not at all.

If it was possible to do his lessons and routines in this position I would let him hug all day. Why? Because his body becomes over-stimulated and his muscles are extremely tight, so the hugging pressure helps him relax. Sometimes we attempt wrapping him in a compression vest (a vest made from lightweight neoprene that fits tightly around his upper body), but that can only be for a short period of time, and while some of his peers enjoy it, he does NOT. If we manage to get the Velcro sides in place (not an easy task on a squirming, protesting child) he will still take it right off unless we cover it with a paint shirt. We also try rhythmically compressing his arms, legs, fingers, and shoulders one joint at a time. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind this process. Another technique we sometimes try is letting him push his way through the Squeeze Machine (sets of rollers a child crawls through that make him feel squeezed like he’s being wrung through a clothes ringer) in the occupational therapy room. All of these methods help, but hugs are a clear winner.

My small friend has taught me the power of a really good hug. I’m not talking the token side hug or the three pats on the back (though these are better than nothing). I mean a good heart to heart squeeze. Virginia Satir, a family therapist, says, “We need four hugs a day for survival. We need eight hugs a day for maintenance. We need twelve hugs a day for growth.”

Here are 7 benefits of a good hug:

  1. Hugs relax muscles and release tension
  2. Hugs boost oxytocin levels, easing feelings of loneliness and anger
  3. Hugs build trust and a sense of safety
  4. Hugs boost self-esteem
  5. Hugs increase serotonin levels, increasing happiness
  6. Hugs help us be present in the moment
  7. Hugs teach us to give and receive

I give lots of hugs in the Autism Room, but when I walk out the door, my hug quota drops significantly. My goal is to increase my hug quality and quantity. Do you need a hug?

Lessons Learned in the Autism Room: Accept Differences

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Before entering the Autism Room, I tried to prepare by immersing myself in books and articles on autism. I knew a few people on the autism spectrum, but their world was still a mystery to me. I filed common characteristics and relating strategies listed by experts into my mental toolbox, and approached the classroom door.

Screaming greeted me. I hesitated. It’s not like I expected silence, but my heart still began beating faster. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Three little boys sat in plastic chairs around a circular table munching on cereal bars. One boy pushed a match box car along a track and yelled when a second boy ventured too close to his car hoard. Another boy screamed when his tower of blocks toppled over. Yet another boy sat quietly in his chair while a teacher encouraged him to play. The lone girl was bouncing between toys every thirty seconds.

The teachers patiently explained the individualized programming for each child, and showed me how to collect daily data. After a brief circle time, we each guided our assigned student to his (or her) station.

My first student was a sweet boy with big blue eyes, spiked brown hair, and a beautiful smile. He was nonverbal and moved at his own (slow) pace. We worked on matching, motor imitation, and receptive identification. Whenever I sensed he was losing focus or becoming agitated, we would use PECS (Picture Exchange Communication System) and he would select a rewarding activity. He often chose a school supply magazine, as he was fascinated with looking at the fine print. He loved hugs and I loved giving them, so we were a good match.

Normally the teachers rotate students every Friday, but they were kind and let me stay with the same student for two weeks. There was a huge learning curve, but soon I felt like I was catching on.

That changed when I was assigned the next student. He was becoming verbal and had an entirely different program. He learned quickly and needed to be asked questions at a fast pace. I constantly had to remove items he managed to spin. His sensory breaks were more challenging because looking at a magazine or book usually did not interest him. He did not like hugs, and would cringe at physical contact as he was afraid of being shocked.

Every time we rotated students, I felt like I was starting a new job. Each child was so different from the others. Now I understood what Dr. Stephen Shore meant when he said, “If you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.”

Working with extreme differences has taught me to be more accepting of differences in others and in myself. We all have attributes of interest and value and aren’t going to fit the same mold. We should encourage each other to reach our full potential and be a blessing to others—in whatever shape that may take.