Tag Archives: Autism Food

Autism, Shopping, Obsessions and Chocolate Cake!

When your son shouts “Shopping!” at 6:50am, you forget about a lie in, pull on yesterday’s joggers, and get your son dressed. You react to a verbal request with no hesitation. You do it because you have spent years waiting for your son to talk. Years crouching down, holding up picture sequence cards and trying to work out what your son wants. Years praying to hear his voice, the tone, the amplification, the bit of his personality that you have waited to get to know.

As you turn into the carpark and watch his face light up at the Morrison’s sign, you feel a lump in your throat. You feel emotional, because you remember the blank stare he always had across his face, just looking at the back of the car seat in front of him. No pointing at the trees flying past, or screams in excitement at the sun as it followed our journey from the sky.

As you step out the car and take his hand, you well up when you ask him “Rhys, carry bag?” and he takes the shopping bag in his hand. Your son who could not follow any instruction. Where language was just a mash of sounds that he could not process, meaning calm words in scary situations had no effect, or words of warning were as good as not being heard. But he can now understand.

You feel like you have hit the jackpot, when you walk hand in hand into the shop, the shopping bag held in his hand. Yes, just calmly walk into a shop! A place where surfaces beam bright light, strange beeps and pings hit the ears and vibrations of trolley wheels penetrate the body with pain. An environment where you have sat on the floor so many times. Your son in an uncontrollable meltdown, kicking and screaming in an environment he cannot tolerate. But today you just walk!

“What do you want?” you ask, crouching down to your son’s level, knowing your stuff and how to talk to your son, the years of education you have taught yourself and the snipits of information you have grasped from the limited professional help you have been provided. “Chocolate cake” he says with no hesitation, but waits for your lead. An exchange of conversation you never imagined would ever happen. A moment of exchange between both of you, where you have reached a stage of understanding. The pain of constant strategy, baby steps and the goals it results in, have all been worth it.

As you walk into the bakery isle, you son points to a cake with no hesitation. With no delay of deciding what to choose. You don’t challenge it, you take the cake he has pointed to, the double tier chocolate cake for twelve, when you cleary know there are only five in your family. It is because of his action. The action you spent months and months working on by physically holding out his arm, placing his fingers in a fist and letting his index finger point at objects.

You then let him carry his cake to the self serve till and push the boundary like you have done so many times before. You pray you are not going to push your son too far, too far that things will fall apart and put you back on the floor in a meltdown situation. But without trying you will never move forward, and you know if it fails, you will learn how to adapt for next time. So you instruct your son to scan his cake. You show him the bar code, and let him wait for the beep. You then direct his finger to the touch screen and you both press “checkout” together, and wait for the last beep as you help him touch the reader with your card. Then you punch the air in triumph, because this simple goal for others, is something you dreamed would never be possible for your boy.

As you walk out the shop you loose control of your emotions when your son, holding his cake, in amplified tone, shouts “Chocolate cake” at the security guard. It is only 07:30am, and that has made that guy’s day.

So this morning we had a sugar breakfast. But today was a day where “No” was not an option!

To all those parents who are unable to take their children anywhere. To the parents who sit on the ground trying to calm down their kicking and screaming child. To those parents who feel they are clueless and lost and drowning.

You are not alone.

Keep trying.

Keep hope.

Keep your head up high.

It may not feel like it now, but you are doing an amazing job. You are helping your children find their way. You are creating a foundation you and your child can build on together.

You will look back at your past self, and never imagine reaching the place you are now.

And who knows what the future has in store!

For us, it will be a chocolate cake breakfast every Saturday! Because I want to start every day like we started off today! And I hope you can too!

Bail Me Out!

I was put in jail today.

Let me start at the beginning…

It didn’t go well from the very beginning, as I helped Rhys into the car for our weekly shopping trip. “Here’s the shopping list” I said, handing him his list of pictures in the same way I do every week. But he had other ideas and with a returned response of “No!” he threw the list on the car floor, followed by, “It fall down, it fall down!”

I had already started to accelerate the car forward, so I pulled to the side of the road, stretched over and picked up the list, handing it to him once again. He took it from my hold, but immediately discarded it back to the floor. It was a game I wasn’t going to play, so I continued forward along the road, coming to the supermarket with a child slightly less happy than when we left.

“Rhys shopping” I said opening the door and taking his hand. He walked, although reluctantly, towards the trolleys, and climbed up onto the heavy goods shelf which we use as a trolley buggy-board.

All seemed to be going to the standard plan, as I pushed the trolley and my son forwards into the shop. It was semi-busy (medium if you want a good gauge of crowd limits) as I pushed up the first isle of fruit and vegetables.

“Rhys, apples?” I said, holding out the apples and then pointing to the little apple picture on his list.

I gestured him to move it across to the red ‘done’ section in the way he does every week, but Rhys turned his back on me, and collapsed to the shop floor, a full on protest against the shopping trip.

Even ignoring social distancing, the space for my fellow shoppers to meander around him was non-existent, so I bent down and lifted him up, but only after he let his tongue make contact with the floor for a good corona tasting session!

As we moved down each isle, I turned the trip into an episode of Supermarket Sweep. The bread got a battering at the bottom of the trolley, with the eggs somehow staying intact throughout the experience. The new game show experience was made more complex with constant lifting of Rhys from the floor, or immediate trolley abandonment, as he ran down isles and through gaps in the supermarket shelving.

I soon agreed with myself that I had enough items to consolidate into some sort of eating experience, and headed to the tills, with Rhys in a fireman lift over my right shoulder, and my left arm manoeuvring a semi-full trolley down the final isle.

People stared, but I was beyond caring. This was an experience I was about to just write off, and all I had to do was get past those tills in front of me and into my car towards home.

The end of the experience was so close, but Mrs Old Lady in front of me, was taking her time trying to work out the complexity of contactless payments, only adding to Rhys’ urgency to get out-of-the-shop!

Rhys ran through the tills and lay horizontal across the floor, blocking the exit to anyone keen to leave. He kicked off his shoes, each one flinging across the space, leaving a middle aged man, unsure how to proceed past the situation.

“Just go round him!” I shouted, having totally given up on any shred of dignity I had left. The man pushed his trolley, making sure not to roll over a foot or stray leg, and I just continued to place my groceries on the belt, knowing the quicker I did it, the quicker this nightmare would be over.

“One, two, three” suddenly came through the tannoy system. A voice I vaguely recognised, but out of context I just couldn’t place. Then I turned my head and saw the origin of the sound. Rhys stood on a chair at the end of the tills, the announcement phone in his hand, and his mouth moving in speech.

I let my shopping and ran towards him, hoisting him into my arms, returning the handset and taking one big breath. All this had to be over soon!

I started to place the last few items into the trolley, with Rhys secured safely on my hip.

“One hundred and sixteen pounds, please?” asked the kind cashier, “would that be cash or card?”
I pulled out my card, and putting it into the slot, entered the code. The screen immediately beeped and a message appeared saying “Card declined”.

I stared at the screen. There was money in my account, what was happening. I tried a few more times, and each time I was rejected.

“Do you have another card Ms?”
“Yes, but I don’t know the pin” I replied, starting to panic not knowing the options to get out of the situation!

I was ushered to the side, Rhys still on my hip  and my trolley of unpaid shopping beside me. “I’ll contact the bank” I said, and through the banking app got hold of a lovely lady called Lidy via the chat.

‘To ensure this is not a fraudulent claim, please send us a selfie of you holding a form of ID’  she said via the letters entered across my screen.

Then my phone screen dimmed, and a low battery message flashed before me.

“Crap!”

I cut-off Lidy (she probably wasn’t human anyway) and punched the only number I knew into my phone, hoping I had enough juice to allow me my one phone call.

“I need your card” I blurted out. Then the screen  went blank.

I could feel the sweat accumulating on my skin as my nerves took hold. I thought about removing my coat to cool down, but then remembered that I was braless, and it was not a sight I could present to the world, even though I had taken them through enough already.

As I suddenly looked to where Rhys was, I was once again taken aback to see him seated at an empty till pushing on some buttons which must have done something, but I had no clue what! So I once again hoisted him onto my hip, and stood waiting in hope that my saviour would arrive.

It took ten minutes. A long ten minutes, but my husband walked in with a card in his hand. He looked at me and smiled.
“You ok?”
“Yes, I’m fine” I blurted.
He then looked at Rhys, and then back at me. “Well done. I dont think I would have had the strength to hold it all together as well as you do. Let’s go home”

Handing over his card to the shop manager, he paid my bail, and we left with just a smidgeon of my dignity still in tact.

I might try a different supermarket next week!

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

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A Mucus Worth a Second Look!

“He’s been sick!” came a scream from the hallway, “OMG! Come help it is everywhere!”

I jump up and run out of the lounge where I am greeted with my husband and a headless Rhys.
“It’s all over his hoody, help me get it off!”

The top has got wedged on Rhys’ head, the hood part gathered up around his neck, closing any gap which will allow us to get it off!

Rhys stands waving his arms around in his temporary blinded state, “Stuck, stuck” he shouts in a voice which is slowly moving to a tone of fear and potentially will end in only one outcome – one of meltdown.

“Watch his ears!” I shout – unsure why shouting is necessary, but seems to feel apt in these sort of situations. I push my fingers between Rhys’ neck and the orange material of the top, easing it over the one side of his head, but it pulls the other side tighter where my husband is attempting to do the same thing.

“We need to communicate!” he shouts, agreeing that panic shouting is necessary. Rhys adds his continuous screams for freedom, claustrophobia setting in.

We look at each other, a plan formed without the need for words. After a bit of agreed coordinated communication and team work, we somehow contort Rhys into some sort of gymnastic position and relieve him from his temporary restraint.

Rhys stands in the hallway, his bare arms poking out of the t-shirt, his little face one of confusion after the ordeal he has just had to be part of.

“Where was he sick?” I ask, still in a volume a bit to high for the situation, but my heart rate is still slightly elevated from the rouge hoody incident.

“There” says my husband pointing to the kitchen floor, while gagging, his mouth open and a paleness overtaking his face. (And he calls himself a man!)

The floor has that mucus type sick which is normally produced when the stomach has nothing left to throw at you.

I take a deep breathe and grab some kitchen roll and spray while Rhys gets a wet wipe and check over by his father.

As our panicked voices subside and we get on with our assigned roles, a little voice, which has been quiet for the last ten minutes, breaks through the silence.
“Make cakes?” it says. Rhys’ face has a questioning look, and still in a slightly confused state.

I look up bewildered, and slightly thankful that my son is feeling ok enough to engage with us.

Then my husband laughs, a little to loudly, and stops consoling his recently vomiting son.

“What’s so funny?” I say, while on my knees, spray in hand trying to return the floor to its recently polished, clean state.

“He wanted to make cakes!” confirms my husband, and then shows me the frying pan from the morning’s breakfast, containing a broken egg amongst some egg shells.

I look at the manky, used kitchen towel in my hand, small pieces of egg shell are visible amongst the mucus.

“I guess we are making cakes!” I say.

“Chocolate cake!” says Rhys.

“OK, chocolate cake!”

🍰🥚🤢🍰🥚🤢🍰🥚🤢🍰🥚🤢

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A List of Battered Items!

Its busy. There are people! Which in these viral times can make things a little hairy! But I am winging it, I have a plan, which most probably will fizzle into a complete disaster within seconds – but it is always good to try.

“Rhys, shopping list” I say, handing him the laminated card which contains five pictures of items we need to get (although there is always going to be more, especially when you hit the miscellaneous isle of Lidl).

All is going well.

Rhys has decided to forgo his standard exercise routine of shuttle runs up and down the isles, and has resorted to the integrated trolley buggy-board option. With his feet secure on the little step, he holds onto the handle of the trolley, with the shopping list placed in front of him.

“Rhys apples” I say, coming to the first item on the list. I hand the bag to him and he lobs it into the trolley, letting them bruise themselves on landing.

I sigh and make a mental note to do the eggs myself in a few minutes!

Taking Rhys’ hand I help him move the apple picture to the right, off the list. He is not happy about it, and screams at me. It is that high pitch scream that penetrates your bones and lingers in the air. People turn expecting a decapitated body or horror scene. But everything is in its place, just a little boy being asked to move a picture!

The Shopping List

We move on, people stop staring and turn back to their business.

“Rhys, pizza next” I say pointing to the little picture of a pizza. I lift four boxes from the fridge and hand them to him.

He throws them into the trolley, each box landing on top of the bruised apples, on some sort of scattered ensemble. I try to contain my urge to rearrange the trolley items, directing myself back to the task.

Once again I take Rhys’ hand and we move the pizza piece across.

He screams!

We move on.

As we walk I rearrange the trolley, and throw in a few extra items which Rhys’ pictures don’t include. I have kept Rhys’ list simple to ensure I keep his attention. Too many pictures would become overwhelming, especially as this is the first time doing this.

As we round the next isle, Rhys shouts, in a volume for everyone’s enjoyment, “ALL DONE!” I look at the list, he has removed the remaining three items across to the right had side.
“Car” he says.

“No Rhys, we need jam, grapes and ham” I say, placing the three pictures back to left of the card. He is reluctant but lets me compete my task.

As the jam is thrown onto the grapes and topped with a few packs of ham, we walk towards the checkout.

“How are you today?” Asks the cashier.

“Bloody fantastic” I answer.

And I am.

As I push my battered shopping out of the store, I am happy that we have shopped together using a list and a new form of engagement. The other shoppers may have seen things differently, but for me, this was progress.

Maybe next time the screams will be a little less audible, and the apples a little less bruised.

But for now, we will survive.

🍎🍕🍯🍇🍔

What are your shopping trips like?

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‘Twas the Night Before a Different Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
a creature was stirring, a lot louder than a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
But instantly pulled down, cause they don’t belong there!

Other’s children were nestled, all snug in their bed,
while mine had numbers and overload consuming his head.
And Mama was tired she felt really crap,
She wanted a Christmas like those other people had

When out in the corridor there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Upstairs my son had escaped with a flash
Entering his room I heard a loud crash.

The moon shone its light through the curtains with a glow
While the Christmas stocking lay alone on the floor down below
It was not welcome, it had been a strange thing to appear
‘Cause he didn’t know about a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

I tucked him in calmly with a kiss so quick
To him there was no person called St. Nick.
But Christmas is not what it is to claim
We can call it something different, a new name

“No Dasher! No Dancer!
No, Prancer and Vixen!
Or, Comet! Or, Cupid!
Or, Donner or Blitzen!
The strangeness is scary
With meltdowns a plenty
So dash away! Dash away!
Dash away, No entry!”

I unwrap every gift to remove the surprise
Making it clear what has been left to find
We listen for murmurs of our little dude
Because a load full of toys will be left for him too.

As the morning light dances onto the roof
Little footsteps can be heard while we’re still aloof
As I draw my covers downwards I look all around
My boy comes into the room with a bound

He is dressed in his pyjamas, from his head to his foot,
and he announces for rice cakes, I go have a look
The toys sit untouched all alone in a stack
My boy has grabbed the familiar toys he knows back

But my boy’s eyes-how they twinkle! His smile, so merry!
His cheeks are like blossoms, his feet a little smelly!
His little mouth is drawn up in a smile,
His blonde hair so bushy in one big pile
He opens his mouth and produces a gap in his teeth
He brushes past the big unfamiliar Christmas wreath
It is just a normal day with a bit of telly
Just like every other day full of jolly

As food is prepared with goodies from the shelf
He holds an apple, the outcome from stealth
A wink of my eye and a twist of his head
I soon realise that this is not a Christmas I need to dread.

As the others eat turkey and all the trimmings
My son sits on the couch with with his Christmas bringings
A pizza with small hot dogs on the side
Who needs a spread when your favourites are tried

We don’t need a Christmas card representation
It’s our family Christmas, our own homemade tradition
We don’t need the presents or big fat old bird
We don’t need the silence where nothing is heard

Cause Christmas is a tradition made our family’s way
Where you can do what your like, your own special day
And if that is the same as everyday before
That’s OK, it makes it less of a chore.

So Merry Christmas to all on this strange dark night
Where we do things differently, we do them right
As I look at the smile on the face of my son
He creeps quietly upstairs because he is done.

Merry Christmas Everyone

🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠

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