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judifilksign Today's exercise was swimming at the Y during Sparkle's lesson, swimming with J, and bicycling with Sparkle.
We had a pop up storm with hail this afternoon, and Sparkle's second lesson was half on the pool deck while they waited for the lights to come back on in the pool. It also made all the things I've ever hurt start to ache, and my arthritis act up. (Oh! my poor right hand, left foot, right knee, left shoulder and lower back!)
So today's cycling was torturous starting out. I thought Sparkle wasn't pedaling or helping me at first, but it was just me being creaky. Sparkle kept calling out encouraging things as I let out little groans of effort. As we approached the first road, where we usually turn around, Sparkle pipped up and asked to go to the bridge. I had been hoping to turn around, but figured that longer was better for Sparkle's sleep tonight, so I acceded to her request.
Across the road, there were chipmunks all sitting every few feet along the rail road tracks, on top of the near rail. There were six or seven of them. It was hard to count them, because as we rode up, the chipmunk closest would dash down to his next neighbor, and they'd chitter a moment, then the pair would scamper to the next chipmunk, and hold converse. As we pulled up abreast, the first chipmunk would dash backwards, while the next two dashed forwards. It was like watching a kindergarten class play telephone: "Psst! Bike coming! Pass it on!"
We chugged up the hill and down across the bridge, Sparkle laughing delightedly. We pedaled up to the next road, and Sparkle said, "And now we turn that way (peeking over my shoulder, she was pointed back home,) and NOT over the new scary road." I had a moment's temptation to go over the new scary road just to be that way, but I was tired enough not to listen to the forked tail side of my brain. We turned around, which can be tricky on a trail with a trailer wheel. Back down hill...
"Wait, Mommy, Wait!" cried out Sparkle. "We haven't drunkened our water yet!" I stop the bike with a squeal of breaks, and hand back the water bottle. She takes one tiny token sip, and hands it back.
"Is that all you wanted?" I asked after I took a couple of gulps. I offered the bottle again.
"We always drink before we go again home," Sparkle explained to me very earnestly, blue eyes very steadily looking at me. Oh, yes. Habits and all that. As we pedaled back over the Grumpy Old Troll Bridge with Sparkle singing, I wondered to myself what steps of things we do in our lives get accomplished because we're habituated to doing them that way, rather than being needed.
When we passed by the wheat field, Sparkle noted that we were passing the deer's home. She also said hello to several robins sitting along the path. "Hello, robin! Why Hello, Sparkle, how are you doing today? Oh, we are riding bicycles, robin. That is fun, Sparkle. Do you want to ride with us, robin? No, thank you, not today." I am very pleased, because this kind of play conversation is a step in linguistics we're supposed to be looking for, and here it is. Usually, it happens when two toys are "talking" to one another. It can be hard for an autistic child to take on the role and perspective of another, so this is a nice, positive step! Most of Sparkle's toy talking is repeating scripts from TV.
Several of the chipmunks had come down to the path after we'd passed, and were running in little Keystone Cops circles around one another before leaping over the grass, scrambling up the bank, and perching back on the rail lines, in evenly spaced intervals. I imagined them saying "No, no, no, after YOU..." in true Toon style.
Passing back across the first road, I realized I'd loosened up, and the ride was normally comfortable again, and not the miserable effort it was at first. This surprised me a great deal. (What do you mean, it didn't stay difficult, but got easier? Weirdiola.)
Pulling up into our driveway, Sparkle said, with immense satisfaction in her voice, "And now we have completed our bike ride, just as we do together every day." I turned and looked at her in surprise at such a sentence, and she nodded decisively at me in a "that's that" kind of way. She hopped off the bike, and I just looked at her a bit.
"Momma," she said, "You have to put away the bike now, just as we do together every day."
We had a pop up storm with hail this afternoon, and Sparkle's second lesson was half on the pool deck while they waited for the lights to come back on in the pool. It also made all the things I've ever hurt start to ache, and my arthritis act up. (Oh! my poor right hand, left foot, right knee, left shoulder and lower back!)
So today's cycling was torturous starting out. I thought Sparkle wasn't pedaling or helping me at first, but it was just me being creaky. Sparkle kept calling out encouraging things as I let out little groans of effort. As we approached the first road, where we usually turn around, Sparkle pipped up and asked to go to the bridge. I had been hoping to turn around, but figured that longer was better for Sparkle's sleep tonight, so I acceded to her request.
Across the road, there were chipmunks all sitting every few feet along the rail road tracks, on top of the near rail. There were six or seven of them. It was hard to count them, because as we rode up, the chipmunk closest would dash down to his next neighbor, and they'd chitter a moment, then the pair would scamper to the next chipmunk, and hold converse. As we pulled up abreast, the first chipmunk would dash backwards, while the next two dashed forwards. It was like watching a kindergarten class play telephone: "Psst! Bike coming! Pass it on!"
We chugged up the hill and down across the bridge, Sparkle laughing delightedly. We pedaled up to the next road, and Sparkle said, "And now we turn that way (peeking over my shoulder, she was pointed back home,) and NOT over the new scary road." I had a moment's temptation to go over the new scary road just to be that way, but I was tired enough not to listen to the forked tail side of my brain. We turned around, which can be tricky on a trail with a trailer wheel. Back down hill...
"Wait, Mommy, Wait!" cried out Sparkle. "We haven't drunkened our water yet!" I stop the bike with a squeal of breaks, and hand back the water bottle. She takes one tiny token sip, and hands it back.
"Is that all you wanted?" I asked after I took a couple of gulps. I offered the bottle again.
"We always drink before we go again home," Sparkle explained to me very earnestly, blue eyes very steadily looking at me. Oh, yes. Habits and all that. As we pedaled back over the Grumpy Old Troll Bridge with Sparkle singing, I wondered to myself what steps of things we do in our lives get accomplished because we're habituated to doing them that way, rather than being needed.
When we passed by the wheat field, Sparkle noted that we were passing the deer's home. She also said hello to several robins sitting along the path. "Hello, robin! Why Hello, Sparkle, how are you doing today? Oh, we are riding bicycles, robin. That is fun, Sparkle. Do you want to ride with us, robin? No, thank you, not today." I am very pleased, because this kind of play conversation is a step in linguistics we're supposed to be looking for, and here it is. Usually, it happens when two toys are "talking" to one another. It can be hard for an autistic child to take on the role and perspective of another, so this is a nice, positive step! Most of Sparkle's toy talking is repeating scripts from TV.
Several of the chipmunks had come down to the path after we'd passed, and were running in little Keystone Cops circles around one another before leaping over the grass, scrambling up the bank, and perching back on the rail lines, in evenly spaced intervals. I imagined them saying "No, no, no, after YOU..." in true Toon style.
Passing back across the first road, I realized I'd loosened up, and the ride was normally comfortable again, and not the miserable effort it was at first. This surprised me a great deal. (What do you mean, it didn't stay difficult, but got easier? Weirdiola.)
Pulling up into our driveway, Sparkle said, with immense satisfaction in her voice, "And now we have completed our bike ride, just as we do together every day." I turned and looked at her in surprise at such a sentence, and she nodded decisively at me in a "that's that" kind of way. She hopped off the bike, and I just looked at her a bit.
"Momma," she said, "You have to put away the bike now, just as we do together every day."
Yes, just as we do together, every day.
