I always had a philosophy that to deal with teenage girls and hormones one only need look as far as their pantry for answers.  One bag of Lay’s Potato Chips and mountains of chocolate.  Squeeze them between the crack in their bedroom door before the beast notices you are present and voila!  Peace until their cycle begins.

Now we have raging hormones with a teenage girl and a mouth that is unable to filter even the slightest negative comment.  This sends both man and beast fleeing for the safety of, well, anyplace other than the presence of this child.  The repetition of complaints alone is enough to have me thinking that sitting in my car in the driveway would be a luxury vacation.

Instead of my fleeing (as I am the only one left) I remind Katie of “the rules of life”.  I have beaten these words into the ground as I spout them forth with such regularity, but it truly is the only thing that stops the runaway train named, “My name is Katie, I have PMS and autism and you are all to blame”.  As any woman will tell you, PMS renders us unable to make sound judgements, as everyone is pushing us to the edge of reason.

So, here I sit, venting to my blog about one new development in our struggle to move our daughter forward in her life with a semblance of understanding socially appropriate behavior.

Yes, it is O.K. to smile, and say, “hello, nice to meet you.”  No, it is not O.K. to cross your arms and glare at someone you are being introduced to while telling me that they are ugly or smell like a hospital.

The gifts, the gifts, the gifts.  Yes, there are many and I choose to devote my life to helping Katie focus on her gifts.  I’m also a mom that needs to sometimes take a step back and remind myself that for every challenge there are rewards, for every tear there is laughter.

“I’m not PMS-ing anymore.” Said Katie. “This is just me.”

I never forget to laugh.

Cassie French Ferguson, 2011, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

“Where have they gone?”  Katie asks, tears streaming down her face.

“I don’t understand.  Where are they now?”

I hesitate, my own tears spilling between my fingers as I shake my head.  ”They’re in kitten heaven, Katie.  They’re in heaven.”

“How do you know that?”  She insists on answers.

“It’s what I believe.  It’s faith.”  I reply.

We have had an extremely traumatic few weeks with a new litter of foster kittens.  They came to us as an easy litter.  They had their mother, they appeared healthy.  Perfect foster litter for Katie to work with.

Life makes twists and turns that we don’t expect.  The mother became ill and had to go into sick bay but the kittens remained with us.  Too young to have lost their mother but old enough to be weaned.  So we syringe fed them formula and baby food.  They happily accepted their new diet as well as the tiny kibble for newly weaned kittens.  All was well…

Suddenly, the little orange tabby was showing distress.  Labored breathing, lethargy, unwilling to eat.  ”No, no, no… please eat… please don’t be sick.”  I was more emotional than I would have liked to be, but the idea of losing a foster kitten was overwhelming to me.  Within 24 hours I called our “Lead”, Eliane, the President of A.S.A.P. and head of the foster kitten program.  She picked the kitten up within 20 minutes.  She was able to provide oxygen treatment and have the vet examine him.

“I’m sorry, he had a heart defect.  There was nothing you could have done for him.  Kittens can go from well to dead very quickly… they are strays and often not healthy.”

“No, oh, no!”  I was devastated that he died.  Katie was gripped by grief and wanted to know.  ”Where did he go?  Where is he now?”

This was just the beginning of a three week nightmare.  We lost three kittens, total, in this litter.  They went from well to gone in a heartbeat.  Adorable, seemingly healthy, kittens that we have loved and nurtured had died… the last one in our arms.  Three lives passed away and took a part of us with them.  We were optimistic, happily ignorant volunteers, ready to provide every skill we had learned to foster kittens until they were old enough to be altered and then enter the shelter population for adoption.  We hadn’t signed up for death.  We hadn’t considered we would lose a life we were caring for.

There is something here I must be missing.  I haven’t found it yet. Is it a lesson in giving of one’s self without benefit of a successful end?   Is it that we continue to move forward, never giving up on our commitment to provide a service to the abandoned cats in the community?  How do we set aside the aching that now is a part of the experience?  How do we again find the joy and optimism?

I don’t know that I will have an answer anytime soon.  I am struggling with my own sense of failure and grief.  I am working to help Katie through this maze that is “volunteerism”.  We are both learning about life, death and loss of innocence that is a part of caring for the fragile lives that we are responsible for.

I am examining the highway of scratches that run up and down my legs as a result of being a human tree to the two kittens that remain alive and healthy.  Hmmm… Eliane said, “You have saved more than you have lost.  This is why we do it.  Sometimes we can only watch them die, but we always save more than we lose.”  That’s true.  We have saved ten.

… And I have the scratches to prove it.

I never forget to laugh.

If one thing has changed in my life as I have gotten older, it is the fantasy that nothing ever ends.  I loved Art Garfunkel’s version of Disney Girls and I wanted the life he sang of.  This was my fantasy at 21 and all these years later when I play the song?  I still feel everything I felt at 21.

The days of not thinking beyond my fantasy of what my life would be… marriage, children, happily ever-after… those days are gone forever.  They have been replaced with retrospect of my life and choices I have made that affected people I cared about.

Sometimes I wonder what path my life might have taken had I made different choices.  I am here, today, in this place because I am meant to be here.  While I believe this I also know that as the world seems to spin faster these days, I want so very much to make “right” the “wrongs” of yesterday.

Can I line-up everyone that I have caused pain and say, “I was so young.  What was I thinking?  I’m so sorry… so very sorry.”  Sometimes I can.  Sometimes I cant.  I’m stuck.

Katie’s autism makes her life very black and white.  It’s true, it’s not true.  Sometimes her mouth opens, the truth tumbles out and I scramble to help her understand the difference between what is socially acceptable and what is not.

I tell Katie, “It’s a rule of life.  You may not understand it but you have to follow it, just the same.”  I wish I had followed more rules myself so that I wouldn’t be sitting here at 4:30 A.M. with my head filled with encounters I wish I could change.

My dad would say (in his heavy, Polish accent), “Vell… this is vhy I told you that you can only gain knowledge from living life.”  So, we live our lives and become whom we want to be and teach our children to be better than we were.  At least, that’s what my life has taught me.  Be better than I was.  Learn early from  your mistakes.  Treasure those you love because nothing lasts forever.

“But fantasy world and Disney girls, I’m coming back”  will forever be in my heart.

As for “I never forget to laugh”? It would have to be Katie’s observation as we were driving on the freeway today.

“There’s a taxi.  It says ‘yellow’  but it is yellow.  We can see that it’s yellow, it doesn’t have to have it written across the side of the taxi.  Oh, but if you’re color blind, you need to see the word to know that it is a yellow taxi.  That makes sense.”

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2010, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Good advice that has only taken me a month to put into effect.

One line a day.  I can write pages, as you families with loved ones on the spectrum know.  We are never at a loss for anecdotes, crises and hilarious moments.

One line a day…

Today Katie is running a fever of 101.1.  Her only symptom is severe chest pain.  Is it her heart?  Is it an early symptom of a virus or bacterial infection that will resolve itself?  I never feel confident with Katie’s symptoms because they could be masking something more… something more…

One line a day…

Katie saw a specialist at Children’s Hospital recently.  She likely has mild lupus… possibly Schogren’s…

One line a day…

Katie has chronic pain and the inability to regulate her body temperature.  This means that while her skin feels cold, she may be hot… or becoming overheated if she is not in an air-conditioned environment.  Not a room that is cool, mind you, but an entire structure where no matter which room she enters, there is consistency in temperature.

One line a day…

My interactions with Katie fill my days with hundreds of worries and infinite concerns for her future… a fulfilling life within the bounds of her disability.

One line a day…

I am being called for by Katie at this moment.

“Mom, can you brush the crumbs off my bed?”

“Why can’t you do it, Katie?”

“I don’t want to get my hands dirty and I don’t want to do it.”

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2010, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Katie has a great deal of confusion around parents who choose not to discuss autism with their children.  Growing up in a household where autism is a normal part of conversation makes it difficult for her when she senses discomfort from others.

Katie sees herself truly.  She recognizes that her brain works differently and with this fact she has both gifts and deficits.  She focuses on her gifts and comes to me for reminders of methods to decompress and relax when she is overly stimulated.

I made a decision years ago that if I’m not comfortable with autism, how can Katie feel comfortable with her neuropathy?  If I’m embarrassed, does this not project a non-acceptance of whom she is?  This is not acceptable to me and I fight to shed light on autism and the wonderful girl that Katie is as well as the gifted woman she will become.  While my ease in sharing Katie’s autism is often met with both the insensitive, “Wow, she seems so normal” as well as the shuffling from foot-to-foot in the “I don’t know what to say, can we change the subject” dance, I forge ahead with the facts.

Look at my daughter.  See her as a person.  A person with a neuropathy that gives her both incredible, artistic and writing skills in addition to difficulty in editing herself before she speaks and an inability to process chaotic environments.  We meet many people on the autism spectrum in our daily lives, most of whom you may not recognize as autistic because they are high-functioning or have Asperger’s Syndrome.  Each and every one is different but there is a thread that binds them all together that you need to understand.  This thread includes a great deal of difficulty organizing large amounts of information coming in at one time.  This thread includes high levels of anxiety and depression.  This thread includes a lack of the innate ability to process facial queues, abstract information and ambiguity.

“Mommy, it’s too hard being autistic.  I just can’t take it anymore.”  Katie will cry to me on a particularly stressful day.

“You can and you will take it, Katie.  This is life… this is your life.  We will find ways to strengthen your coping skills.  You must remember to find a quiet place to decompress and refill your bucket.  You will never, ever give up.  ”It’s a rule of life.”

For every painful exchange with my daughter I have even more joyful moments.  The moments that most of us take for granted are blessings in Katie’s world.

I walk into the family room.  Katie is sitting on the couch, chocolate ice cream smudged across her lips.  She looks up at me, smiles and the room fills with her laughter.  ”Mommy, I can’t kiss Muffin (her cat) when I put lip balm on my mouth because it sticks to his fur and I get cat hair on my mouth.  That’s where lipstick gets its name… it sticks to your lips.”

I look at her and realize I’ve never thought about why it’s called ‘lipstick’.  ”That’s funny, Katie.”

Then I smile… I see you, Katie… I see you.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Bleh.  I am writing this with bags under my eyes that need their own porters to carry them and a weariness that is award-worthy.  The point of this is for all you parents out there who have kids on the spectrum and can’t remember what a good night’s sleep feels like.

There is no denying that the work we put into our children helps to drive them forward.  I cannot sit back and spend even the smallest amount of energy I can muster in living with “Why did this happen to Katie?”.  I spent the better part of two years researching causes, overturning every possibility that would explain her neurological disorder.  I have said this before and it continues to be my mantra, “It doesn’t matter.  It is what it is and I have a choice to make.  I can spend Katie’s life living in the past or guide her into a productive future.“

Truth be told, we know that there is no extra emotional or physical energy for us at the end of the day.  We call a good day one without a meltdown that sends us racing for a locked room, just so that we can retain our coping skills and ease our child into decompressing.  It is always clear that once our child recovers, they are (if only for a time) more reachable.  It reminds me of the way I feel after a migraine headache.  Katie has released the pain and feels a sense of relief.  We know migraines will come again, as do the meltdowns.

As you who follow my blog know, Katie doesn’t sleep until well after midnight.  As soon as the house is quiet, her creative juices flow and she writes pages of fairy tales sprinkled with peaceful characters and even wicked ones, always with a happy ending, always with a sense of hope.  Then she creates artwork to grace her stories.  I find great comfort in opening her door at 1:00 A.M. to find her in a state of calm that is never, ever seen during the day.

These are our blessings and the work put into the future is worth every sleepless night to me.  If I were to write this on a day where I had, maybe six hours of sleep rather than three broken hours, I wouldn’t be able to share the value of finding our focus.  It is only in my cobweb-filled mind that I understand that I have found many of Katie’s gifts.  Homeschooling her with the Waldorf method and spending the short hours each day that she is able to process the importance of working towards a better world is of the greatest importance to me.

Katie enters the office.  ”I want to enter a contest.  I have to take pictures of nature and write about it.”

“Oh… O.K.  We’ll do this tomorrow.”  I say, weary at 8:15 in the evening.

“I want to do it now.  I don’t know what to do.  I have to do it.  I want to do it before I am late for the contest!”

Well, I don’t have to tell you the futility of arguing with her.  ”We will look at the rules and take pictures tomorrow.”  Then I pause.  I’m exhausted but she is motivated and inspired.  I hand her the camera and she rushes out in the last of the day’s light to photograph her world.

When she came in, I downloaded the photos and saw, yet again, another gift.  I was tearful as I looked through her photos.  The world she write about had been translated into the photos, which made biting my tongue and sending her out with the camera, oh, so worth it.

The next morning she is up before I can save my life with a cup of coffee.

“Mom, we have to go to the beach to take more pictures.”

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Case in point.

Katie has been in a constant state of anxiety since the beginning of December.  She is unable to anticipate the holiday in an excited, happy manner that most children do.  From her first waking moment until she falls exhaustedly asleep, she is agitated about the “butterflies” she feels in her stomach and is fixated on the possibility that she may not receive positively, absolutely, exactly, the item at the top of her list.

I learned long ago to tell the kids that they will not get everything on their list, however, as long as their first choice was within the budget,  they could anticipate it being under the tree on Christmas morning.

Now, Mike has a very different way of calming Katie’s agitation.  It goes something like this.

“Katie, we all have had times when we were disappointed by something that happened during the holidays.  When I was six years old, I knew that I could ask for one thing that I wanted and if my parents could afford it, I would get it for Christmas.  This year I knew that I wanted a model airplane that flew attached to a string.  Christmas morning, I opened my present and there it was!  Exactly what I wanted.  I knew that I couldn’t fly it alone so I asked my dad to help me and we went outside to fly my new plane.  Well, the plane went around two times, went straight up, then straight down and blew up when it hit the ground.”

“Did it really blow up, daddy?”  Katie asks.

“Well, no… it didn’t blow up, but it crashed.”

“Did you cry?”

“Yes, I cried.  I sat on the porch all day and cried because my one Christmas present was ruined and there was nothing else.”

Lauren and I are cringing as we listen to Mike’s memory and the thought of this little boy sitting on the steps of the house, tears spilling down his little face as he cried for his lost Christmas.  Such a sad story!

At this point Jamie enters the room.  ”What was ruined?”

“Well, Jamie, when I was just six years old, I knew that I could ask for one toy that I wanted for Christmas…”  Mike is immediately cut-off by Katie.

“Daddy, I feel your pain but this story is really killing time for me and I have to get ready for bed.  You are just repeating yourself.”

Mike stops talking and I quickly write down exactly what she has said… both a blog and “rules” on my mind.  Katie exits the room, Mike and I look at each other, shake our heads and laugh.

Katie needs repetitive lessons to understand this “rule of life” because she cannot differentiate between absolute honesty and sensitivity.  One rule is to stop and think about how she would feel if she was hearing her words.  It’s truly a work in progress.  Repetition, repetition.

By the way, Mike had told me this story just before Christmas when I was pregnant with Katie.  I felt so badly for him that I found a red, radio-control plane that was similar to the one that crashed all those years ago and gave it to him on Christmas morning.

“Mike, what happened to that plane?”  I ask.

He thinks for a moment, “Oh, yeah… I think I threw it out.”  He pauses.  ”But I kept it for years!”

I sigh… then I smile.

The apple is as sweet as the tree is strong.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Farm Ville on facebook… yeah… right… that’s all you need to understand the mind of an autistic child.  Ahhh, you are cynical.

Over the years since Katie’s diagnosis I have read every book that would help me understand the way she experiences life.  The best tool that I have found to date is to stop and watch her as I see her slipping into meltdown.

Here is an example.  Katie has chronic pain in her feet from years of toe-walking followed by months of wearing casts to enable her to walk correctly.  First memories?  Well, for you it may be when your baby rolled-over, smiled, sat up… but for me it was Katie pulling her socks and shoes off.  Especially her right sock and shoe.  I wish that I had photographed Katie with one sock/shoe on and one off, because this was a daily event that went on forever.

I didn’t understand the significance of Katie’s needing to have bare feet, not even when her shoe became a heat-seeking missile directed squarely at my head while I was driving the car.  You know the drill, “If only I knew then what I know now.”

Which brings me to getting inside our autistic child’s head.  Katie was diagnosed just before her eighth birthday.  Never look back, I remind myself.

1.  Katie’s hands cover her ears, head goes down, eyes close.  ”I can’t take this.  I want to go home.  IT’S TOO LOUD!” We are sitting in the shoe department as I desperately try to find a pair that she finds, a) aren’t too tight, b)  aren’t ugly, c) don’t rub, d) aren’t irritating in one of 1,000 ways.  I begin with a budget but after 45 minutes am willing to pay $1,000 if I can JUST FIND THIS CHILD A PAIR OF SHOES SHE IS HAPPY WITH!

Then I stop and close my eyes.  The first thing that I experience is the loud music being played in the store that I didn’t even notice before.  I had tuned it out, just as most of us are able to do.

Next, I look around.  Racks of shoes, people milling around, fluorescent lights, large, open department store with one department flowing into the next and every color imaginable entering my brain… all at one time.

This is a living hell for an autistic mind.  Everything that I make a point of avoiding at home so that Katie has a sense of calm and order is lost in this sensory overload environment.

It is the end of the shopping trip.  I limit outings to 2 1/2 hours at the most, if I am able.  Unfortunately, the constant stream of shoes for Katie to try on has added to her inability to tune-out the chaos and has catapulted her into an early melt-down.  There will be no shoes to comfort her poor, suffering feet today.

The above experience can be applied to every outing and every school experience that Katie has had in her lifetime.  She did, however, enjoy “Boo at the Zoo”, the halloween event at the Santa Barbara Zoo.  I had anticipated nothing pleasant for Katie, but both she and her brother wanted to dress-up and trick-or-treat at the event.  I was very pleasantly surprised to find that Katie had a wonderful time.  The event was at night, outdoors and it followed her daily medication management.  Trick-or-treating in our neighborhood previous years had only last three houses for Katie.  The candy collecting was orderly at the zoo, where the children went from table to table.  Maybe this made the activity easier but the next time may be an entirely different story… I know you hear me, parents!

Now, to Farm Ville.  The reason this game helps me understand Katie is that I can compare her farm to mine, Jamie’s and all of our Farm Ville neighbors.  If you have played the game, you know that you collect Farm Ville money, grow crops, collect animals and build a farm.

Katie’s farm is in complete order.  When you look at her design, you see no chaos.  The animals are in ‘stay’ mode so that she can line them up, they blink at the same time, they are fenced-off by animal type, the crops are orderly and you have a sense of calm.  Jamie’s farm is also orderly and I think that his mathematical, engineering brain is what helps him understand Katie.  The dynamic between these two makes for a good balance.  Jamie seems to innately understand Katie and she is comfortable with him.

As parents we are constantly working toward helping our children cope with the world around them.  ”Getting into their heads” isn’t easy, but so much is understood when we are able to open the window to their world, if only a little.  Helping an overloaded child learn to decompress by finding an enclosed, quiet environment to refill their buckets is well worth the time.

“Mommy, you need to change your farm.  If it was my farm, I would do this and this and this…”

WELL! I am so insulted as I gaze at my animals, (crammed into too small pastures because I can’t bare to sell them) and my vineyard… ahh… my vineyard, which covers so much of my land that there just isn’t’ enough room for all my animals.  Maybe it’s somewhat chaotic, but it’s my chaos and playing Farm Ville helps me decompress…

… well, Farm Ville and a real glass of wine.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Family Camp took place over the Labor Day weekend.  Grandma Shirley, family director, always made sure the family was together for the weekend in the mountains.  I looked forward to those three days and many of my favorite memories took place with the community that trekked up for the weekend.

Jeremy and Kellie were just babies and toddlers during the time that I participated, and Grandpa Dave would have wonderful “grandpa” time with Jeremy.  They sat together at mealtime and Grandpa took care of Jeremy when he was stung by a bee.  Grandpa was there for the grandchildren at family camp and we loved being able to see another side of him.  Watching Dave play baseball, listen to comedy albums after breakfast with his friends and having him teach my sister-in-law, Debbie and me how to Foxtrot were the absolute best of times.

Hard-working and a dedicated businessman, Dave had an impressive, larger than life personality.  He laughed easily, told the best jokes had a positive attitude through thick and thin and taught me, “No matter how hard things are, everything is great!”

Grandpa Dave wasn’t your average grandpa.  His work involved travel which meant that we didn’t always have him home for events.  Oh… but when he was home… the fun began!  Even a simple dinner out at a restaurant with family became a big party.  Everything was just… well… happier when Dave was there. He was joyous around his grandchildren and through the years, no matter the miles that separated him from the family, he was always available at the end of the phone line and he continues to be, to this very day.

“Where did Shirl hide the chocolate?”

“We don’t know, Dave, let’s look for it!”

So, off Dave, Debbie and I would go, searching through the cabinets for the chocolate that was hidden specifically from him! If we couldn’t find it, he would run off to the drugstore for  chocolate ice cream, his favorite.  There really was no point in hiding chocolate from a man who adored it.

There is a great deal to be lost in believing that a loved one needs to be present to be devoted.  There is not a more loving and devoted  grandfather than Dave.  He is a grandfather whom is always interested in the grandchildren’s lives and ready with good, solid advice and encouragement.

When you hear the expression, “Behind every successful man, there is a woman”, I would take that a step farther.  ”Behind this wonderful, loving grandfather is an equally wonderful, loving woman.”  Judy is that woman.  The sun truly came out from behind the clouds when Judy came into Dave’s life and all these years later, that sun is still shining.

Judy is the beautiful, strong bowl to Grandpa Dave’s chocolate ice cream.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

“Ah, yes, Karol, that was so-and-so.”

“DAD!  She was a SHORT woman with RATTED-UP hair.”

“VANDA!  She vas a short voman vith rats in her hair.”

“No, DAD!”

So went conversations with my father.  A Polish Jewish immigrant, my dad came to America following the end of WWII, with his wife, Antoinina and son, Henry.  They joined his sister and brother-in-law, the lone survivors of his entire family.  The Nazis had killed every other family member during the war.  They were either shot on the street or captured, placed in concentration camps and there, perished.  My Father had been captured by Russians and spent seven and a half years in a Russian labor camp.  He was one of the lucky ones who survived and made it to a new life in America.

[My brother David and Karol's son Henry were best friends.  My mother and Karol married following the passing of Antoinina from a long-term illness.  My younger brother, Alexander, came along in 1969 and the family was complete.]

My dad never took his freedom or American citizenship for granted.  He was proud to be an American, even though the master’s degree he had received in Poland in engineering was not useful to him here.  He worked for Lockheed until their massive lay-off in the early 70′s, then worked in a local electrical engineering plant.  He kept a roof over our head and food in our mouths.

My dad’s history made him a very stern father in the sense that he didn’t take anything for granted.  He believed there was no sense in having more than one pair of shoes, we were to eat only healthy foods and we were never to refer to either he or my mother as “he” or “she”.  To this day, I don’t understand why he interpreted this as disrespectful.

Years later when the first grandchildren came along, my dad was just thrilled.  He had never lost his heavy Polish accent, and he would sing in either Polish or Russian to the kids.  This was a man who could not carry a tune, but the kids seemed to enjoy his voice and the attention.

“Fikki-mikki YOU!” He would shout.  This meant, “What are you thinking?”  ”God bless you.”  ”You ate all the ice cream.”  ”The dog peed on the floor.”  I don’t know if it translates to anything, we just knew it as dad’s “HEY!” expression, and I use it to this day.

My dad loved magic and he was amazing at card tricks.  Jeremy also loved magic, so they had this in common.  Grandpa Karol would spend as much time as Jeremy would tolerate, showing him card tricks and showing him how they were done.

“Jedemy… don’t tell anyvone the secret.  Magician’s don’t tell the secrets.”

“O.K., grandpa, I won’t tell.”

Grandpa took Jeremy to see Doug Henning, the professional magician and this shared experience was such a vital part of their bond.  My dad had so much fun with the grandchildren, certainly more fun than he had being a dad.  He was patient and bought toys that he never would have considered throwing money at when we were kids.

“Kellie, I got you a doll… it talks and sings.”  The funny thing about this is that Kellie hated dolls.  Barbie was O.K., but she was afraid of large dolls that looked real, and this one took the cake.  When she sang, this eerie, creepy voice came out of her that scared even me.  Kellie took that doll, covered it in ink and stuffed it into the closet.  One day she just disappeared altogether.  She’s probably in some horror movie now.

My mother, brother and I were lucky to have been rescued… and we were rescued… by this funny Polish man whom left me with some of my most important words of wisdom.

“Dad, the dentist thinks I should take the binky from (Jeremy, Kellie, Lauren) but I don’t feel right about it.”

“Cassie, I promise that on their vedding day, they vill not have a binky!”

That was good enough reason for me to stop worrying about the little stuff.  But, my favorite is still…

“Cassie, the lazy man has to do it twice.”

“What the heck, dad?”

“Vell, you vill see…”

I hear these words in my head every single day, even though my dad passed away in 1995.  When?  You ask.

“I can get these darned jeans off, over my boots.”  As I crash to the floor in a tangle of jeans stuck to boots.

“I don’t need to unbutton my shirt to get it off.”  As I hit my head on the wall while I struggle to pull a much-too-small opening over my giant head.

“I don’t need a shopping cart to pick up dog food.”  I walk to the rear of the store, pull a 40# bag off the shelf, struggle ten feet, catch the corner on a shelf, rip a hole in the bag and spill the contents, rendering the isle a safety hazard.  I then walk to the front of the store and say, “I think I need a cart.”

I still don’t want to walk downstairs to get the laundry basket.  Instead I will make three trips to pick up 27 items I dropped along the way.

Fikki-mikki,the lazy man has to do it twice.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

This was not the Texas that Mike grew up in… not at all.  The hill country is beautiful, rolling hills and wide open blue skies with billowing clouds as far as the eye can see.  This was Grandma Frances’ Texas.

I was blessed to have two wonderful mothers-in-law.  While Shirley was my “chicken soup” mother-in-law, Frances was my “barbecue” mother-in-law.

Now… what the heck does that mean?  Well, Frances was your half-pint from Texas with a honey-dripping-from-the-tongue southern accent.  She spoke in a very soft and sweet voice, but every once in a while you would  hear, “Thunder!” And know that you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever drove her to raise her voice, which wasn’t often.

Frances immediately became Grandma to my children, Jeremy, Kellie and Lauren.  They were welcomed with the warmest of open arms and love.  There was never a sense that we were new to the Texas family… and this meant the world to me.  When my mother passed away, it was Frances opened her arms to my brother Alex and made a new place for him to call home.

Grandma Frances understood kids.  She had four of her own, as well as grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  She accepted each of my children for who they were, encouraged their dreams, supported their education and always checked in on them from Texas.  I knew that distance was only a word, because Frances was an ever-present force in our lives.  Whether by e-mail or telephone, she was always within reach.

Visits to Texas were filled with family gatherings.  We would all converge on her home in the hill country outside San Antonio and her house would fill with sisters and cousins, nieces and nephews, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  There was always room for more in her heart and in her home.  All were welcomed with the southern hospitality my mother had told me about.  It is a way of life that this California girl grew to love, quickly.

Grandma Frances wrapped her family in an abiding love that I have never experienced before.  Her faith was unshakeable and you would do well to never, ever utter an unkind word about one of her grandchildren.  She loved each one so deeply that when my children were in her presence their hearts and souls were blessed with the best that God has to give.  When a child was struggling, she lifted them up, when they were hopeless, she gave them a gentle strength I have never seen in anyone before.

I honestly can say that she was the closest person to God I have known.  Frances was a gift, a blessing… an angel walking among us.  She was a gentle and yet very strong spirit.

“Cassie, when I was young I had beautiful feet.  I spent all the money I made at the university on shoes.”

“No kidding?”

“Why, one night I got caught in the boys dormitory and I had to hide behind a couch so that I wouldn’t get into trouble!”

“Whatttttt? You?  Oh, my gosh, you were just a firecracker, Frances!”  I couldn’t believe that this petite, soft-spoken lady, with a capital “L” would ever have done anything so scandalous as to be hanging around the boys dorm, let alone after hours.  The fun we had as she shared her life is a treasured memory.

My children’s lives were enriched by visits to her home in Texas.  Grandma Frances would give them a coffee can filled with corn to feed the deer that came into her yard daily.

“Shake the can and the deer will come.”  Sure enough, they would shake the coffee can of corn and a doe, often with her young, would appear among the oak trees.

“Now, watch out for the fire ants and the scorpions.”  She would warn us California folk.  ”One night I got up and walked across the floor barefoot and was stung by a scorpion!”  We may have black widows here, but at least they’re hiding-out under wood piles or in dark corners.  The idea that something might be creeping around right in the middle of the floor determined the need for a good pair of cowboy boots… to be worn at all times… maybe even slept in.  And fire ants?  For something that looks so harmless, their sting packs a huge wallop that lingers.  Flip-flops have no place in the country of Texas.

When we lost Grandma Frances, my children lost their last grandmother.  Each one of them has intimate memories of  her tender way of touching their lives and loving them.

They say that everything is bigger in Texas.  It just doesn’t seem as big without Grandma Frances’ open arms.  But on the wall above our fireplace is a painting of the Texas hill country, blanketed in bluebonnets.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

During my pregnancy with Jeremy, it was Shirley who brought ‘care packages’.  Groceries of all the foods she felt were important for me to eat (not to mention that I should feed her son) while her little bubeleh was awaiting his birth.  She was a force to be reckoned with and as a first time mom and new wife, I was happy to have her support.

Shirley had very clear Jewish traditions which she stood by with an iron fist.

“Cassie, I will buy you the crib for the baby, but not until it is born.  It is bad luck to buy anything for the baby before birth.”

“But, Shirley, I want to have the nursery ready when the baby comes.”

“It’s bad luck.”

“But…”

I learned early on that there was no sense in arguing with Shirley for she was unshakeable in her beliefs.  While my father was Jewish, my mother was Methodist and I was considered the daughter-in-law who would do well to listen to her mother-in-law.

By the time Jeremy arrived, Shirley had given me every book she felt was important for me to read, flaunted my pregnant belly to her friends, taught me to bake Hamantashen (Haman’s hats, baked during Purim), bought me the ‘proper’ chair for rocking her first grandchild and clearly defined proper house-keeping techniques.  You could conduct brain surgery on her kitchen floor, it was so clean, so I took the hint and upgraded from cleaning the floors once a week to daily.  Shirley was at once devoted, loving and gave determination a new name.

Grandpa Dave and Grandma Shirley were on a cruise the day Jeremy arrived.  I could hear their shouts of joy all the way from the ship to my hospital room… and this was before they called.  While my parents were thrilled by Jeremy’s birth, I had yet to experience the overwhelming emotion of the Light Grandparents.  Their love could move mountains should the mountains stand in their way of getting to their new grandson.

A coming-out party was arranged and at two months old, the entire Valley Cities Jewish Community Center converged on the Grandparents home to bring blessings of good health.  Jeremy was now a member of the community.

If my mother’s job was to enrich Jeremy’s life with culture, Shirley’s job was to enlighten Jeremy’s life.  Books by the stacks were given to me on everything from Transactional Analysis for Tots to The Rainbow Man.  No Parent’s magazine subscription for me, instead Shirley sent me Mother Jones.  Grandma Shirley was determined with a capital “D” to make sure that Jeremy was independent, free-thinking and exposed to an intellectual life.  Reigning me in from my happy-go-lucky attitude was a challenge for her.

I have to say that the connection between Grandma Shirley and Jeremy was extremely intimate.  They seemed to just ‘get’ each other and there was no behavior by Jeremy that Shirley didn’t say, “This may be harder for you, Cassie, but it is better for Jeremy.  He will be a strong man.”

Jeremy wouldn’t eat bananas for me but heck if he wouldn’t eat them for Grandma Shirley.

“Jeremy doesn’t like bananas, Shirley.”

“He eats them for me, because I make banana hats.”

Banana hats were a slice of banana with a cashew on top.  Listen up moms!  I learned a very valuable lesson that I use to this day.  Kids will eat almost anything if you add a little something and change the name… banana hats… ha!

The paradox of Shirley was the commitment to healthy meals, mega-vitamins to be followed by bowls-full of Hershey’s kisses on the entryway table and waffles with huge scoops of chocolate ice cream.  I loved and adored her yet she could drive me crazy, too.  Invitations were statements, not questions, and if Shirley thought something was good for you, then you had better be prepared to go hungry if you weren’t going to eat it!

“Cassie, you and Rickela will come for brunch on Sunday.”

“Cassie, you and Rickela will come for dinner Wednesday.”

“Cassie, use brown rice, not white rice.”

“Cassie, liver is good for you and if you don’t want to eat it, I have nothing else.” BLEH!

I knew that her advice came from a loving place and as the mother of her first grandchild, my place in her heart was safe.  I miss the lessons learned in her warm kitchen, the smell of her perfume mixed with the world’s best chocolate cake baking in the oven.  These will always be at the top of my list of fondest memories.  Shirley loved all of her grandchildren more than anything.  They were her shaineh ponems (pretty or beautiful face) and shaineh maidelas (beautiful little girls).

Over the years, Grandma Shirley’s physical presence in Jeremy’s life was punctuated with articles she would cut from magazines or newspapers.  Topical subjects of interest to her that would enrich Jeremy’s life, or articles she knew would be of particular interest to Jeremy.  She was always available to her grandchildren with words of support and encouragement.  Forever a loving presence in their lives.

“Cassie, I know it seems that Jeremy will be two forever… one day you will look back and say that it went by so fast.  All your children will move out and you will wonder where the time went.  The day that Terry (her youngest) moved away to go to college, I cried for three weeks.  Cherish this time now because it doesn’t last forever.”

She was right.  The last time I saw Shirley was the day before she passed away.  I was with Jeremy, Kellie and Nate.  Jeremy and Kellie spoke to her gently of their love for her while she slept.

As for me, I remembered that one of Shirley’s greatest loves had been her cat, Sheba.  Sheba had passed away years earlier, but Shirley continued to grieve her loss.  I brought a white, stuffed cat that looked like Sheba to her bedside and placed it on her blanket.

“Shirley, you are a wonderful mother and grandmother.  I love you… Sheba is here.”

Shaineh ponem, shaineh Grandma Shirley.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

“Grandma Wanda, I’m hungry.”

“All right, darling, let’s go see what is in the refrigerator.  Hmmm… how about an apple?”

“How ’bout cake?”

“Jeremy, how about a sandwich?”

“How ’bout cake?”

“How about soup?”

“How ’bout cake?”

The “How ’bout cake?” story was told by my mother at every gathering until we lost her October 20, 2001.  She adored the grandchildren, and  filled their lives with culture.  She felt this was her responsibility, I would add, because my mother had been a professional opera singer, was married on the stage following a performance of “The Desert Song” and her life was filled with culture and music.

Grandma Wanda enriched Jeremy’s life with trips to museums and cultural venues.  She played piano with Jeremy from the time he was big enough to sit on her lap at the piano. She sang to him and filled his world with history, the great composers, art and music.

“Grandma SING!” Jeremy would be spinning the Sesame Street record as fast as his little fingers would allow, sending Grandma’s operatic voice into a hilarious, warp-speed version of the song.

Sunny-day-sweeping-the-clouds-away-on-my-way-to-where-the-air-is-sweeeeeeeeet-can-you-tell-me-how-to-get-how-to-get-to-Sesame-Streeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!”

They would sit together on the floor, laughing, singing and playing the record over and over again.  Treasures, both.

My mother loved cake,  pastries and good food.  Her hands would shape invisible details of delicacies she had savored while traveling through Europe.  It always amazed me that food could be so interesting when described by someone whom enjoyed it so much.

She was an extraordinary cook, making gourmet meals out of whatever items she might have on hand.  ”We are having misto frito for dinner.”  It sounded good to us although I always wondered why this dish was always something different when it appeared on our plates.

It would be impossible to sum-up my mother in a blog.  She was bigger than life, warm, loving, kind and filled with a richness that reflected her love of life and traveling.  Looking back, I can see just how much she loved her family in ways that I didn’t realize then.

“Mrs. Sack, you cannot bring that castle onto the plane, it must be packed and shipped from France to America.”

“THIS CASTLE IS FOR MY GRANDSON, AND I AM NOT GETTING ONTO THIS PLANE WITHOUT IT!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND?  I AM GOING TO CARRY THIS CASTLE, ONTO THE PLANE AND NO ONE IS GOING TO KEEP ME FROM PROTECTING IT FOR MY GRANDSON!” (You’ve already guessed that this was pre 9/11)  And my mother did carry that castle, on her lap, all the way from France for Jeremy.  We still have the castle.  It was handed down from Jeremy, to Kellie, to Lauren, to Katie and now Jamie has it.  That castle has a story and Grandma Wanda’s memory will live on in the retelling of its journey.

The loss of my mother, Grandma Wanda, remains an open wound in my heart to this day.  Knowing that my two youngest children will never have the opportunity to share her wealth of knowledge, her love for them and most of all, the biggest, warmest hugs ever, will forever be one of the greatest losses in their lives.  She is missed beyond words by us all.

Jeremy’s bond with his grandmother made her passing a devastating and life changing event.  He had been living with her at the time and had been quite worried about her health.  They would stay up ’till the wee hours of the morning talking.  Snapshots of their relationship which  bring waves of raw emotion to this day.

“Mom, Grandma asked me to get ice cream last night.  I told her it was late and I didn’t think she should have ice cream.  She was really upset and said she wanted to have ice cream and I should go and get some.”

“Well, what did you do, Jeremy?”

“I went and got her ice cream.”

This may seem like a non-event to some, but to those of you who have stories like this to tell about your loved ones, I say hang onto them.  Because it’s the little, simple stories that you will remember years later.  Something that seemed so small at the time was actually filled with everything that you loved about that person.

On the center of my kitchen island sits a cake plate…

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Jeremy welcomed Kellie with the tenderness you don’t often see in a three-year-old.  The sense that he would protect this baby and love her eternally was present on his face and gentle touch.  He never stopped smiling from the moment he saw her in the hospital.  Kellie was a contented, happy baby and Jeremy’s world became richer because of her arrival.

Kellie also marched to her own drummer.  She had no interest in your typical “girlie” toys.  She rejected dolls, dresses and nightgowns.  Her favorite pajamas were Jeremy’s hand-me-downs… his PJ’s with the football print.  Every night Kellie would demand the footed football pajamas and cry when they were in the laundry.  ”Football PAJAMAS!”  She would cry as tears rolled down that beautiful little face.  I was not to have the little girl who played with baby dolls, no sir.  Kellie only wanted her stuffed Snoopy Belle, which she loved and cared for like a baby doll. She was every bit as independent as Jeremy, although she resonated a sweetness and light… unless she was pushed…

“MOMMMMMMMMMMMMY! Kellie is squashing the snails!  Make her STOP!”

Sure enough, little ‘sweetness and light’ had become a heat-seeking missile aimed squarely at the parade of snails crossing the sidewalk.   Ready, aim, foot came up and smash! Such intensity coming from one so small and whom laughed so gleefully drove Jeremy to hysterics.

“The SNAILS! Mom, Kellie’s smashing all the snails!  KELLIE, STOP!”

Kellie was not interested in giving up on sending the snails on the next rocket-ship to heaven, so I picked her up and carried her for the remainder of our walk.  Jeremy always showed compassion and sensitivity for even the smallest of living creatures, a character trait which remains to this day.

As Jeremy approached kindergarten age, it was obvious that his interest in engineering and science were developing quickly.  Science, building and magic kits were his focus at the time.  He would spend hours learning magic tricks and shared this interest with his Grandpa Karol, also an avid magician.  His life was enriched by the presence of his grandparents; Grandpa Karol, Grandma Wanda, Grandpa Dave and Grandma Shirley.  Jeremy was the first grandchild and this fact made him the apple of everyone’s eye.  There was never a shortage of loving arms ready to scoop him up and fill his world with music and stories.

The sense of humor developing in this child was both hilarious and scary.  He had what we used to call a ‘bent’ sense of humor and the more bizarre, the funnier to me.

“Grandma Shirley?”

“Yes, shayna punim… my shayna boy?”

“Grandma, when you’re old and gray and wrinkly, I’m going to buy a snake and it is going to bite you.”

Yikes!  If this was Jeremy at age three, who would he be at 30?  At age 31, the quick wit is firmly intact.

As for Kellie?  Well, if I were a snail I would stay out of her neighborhood.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Just before age three, Jeremy spent three mornings a week at Farm School.  Remember, I was a first time mom, so I researched preschools as though my boy’s future depended upon it.  He was a child of the 70′s and his father and I were certainly children of the 60′s, therefore an open, free environment would be ideal.  No boundaries, no structure, no-no, do not fence-in our child.

Farm School provided an open learning environment.  Animals were an important part of the developing child’s world as was the opportunity for the children to express their individuality.

“Mrs. Light… Jeremy likes to climb into the rabbit cages.”

“Oh… really?  The rabbit cages?  To be with the rabbits… O.K…. what does that mean?”

“Well, he shouldn’t climb into the rabbit hutch but he wanted to be with the rabbits.”

Oh… ummmmm… O.K., is that O.K.?”

“Well, we just want you to know that we found him sitting among the rabbits…”  Her voice trailed off because she really didn’t know what to say.  Jeremy wasn’t hurting the rabbits, just sitting in a rabbit hutch.  I could just picture him sitting cross-legged, surrounded by bunnies.  At the time I had an anxiety attack, but now it makes me laugh.

“Well, I’ll talk to him.”  I said, not having a clue as to what this meant.  Now, after having five children I would say, “So, he’d rather be with the animals?  So… what’s the problem?”  If I only knew then what I know now.

“Jeremy, why were you in the rabbit cage?”

“I wanted to be with the rabbits.”

“Oh… well, the school doesn’t want you to be where they can’t see you, so don’t do it again.”

“O.K.”

New moms take note… do not allow anyone to make a big deal out of situations such as this.  Children are creative, curious and inspired by who knows what.  Think of their individuality as a gift and move on.

This was only the beginning of Jeremy’s expedition into following his drummer.  The mind was always busy which led to activities that didn’t exactly thrill the teachers trying to wrangle him. Emotionally, he was just a little boy, but the mind worked overtime and needed constant stimulation to keep Jeremy within the boundaries of traditional education.

These are only the early years, my friend.  Jeremy is now 31 with a rich and full portfolio, and I am proud to say that I was there to witness the super nova of his development.

The day I stood in the grocery store line when Jeremy was three and he informed an elderly woman of her anatomical parts as compared to his… well… I knew it was not going to be smooth sailing through his childhood.

I think that I would like to sit with the rabbits.

I never forget to laugh.

© Cassie French Ferguson, 2009, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Cassie French Ferguson, Autism Funhouse and autismfunhouse.com, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.