Category: general
Pip creates a lot of large scale art installations at home. He doesn’t speak and clearly these are a powerful means of self expression. Move over Tracy Emin, there’s a new sheriff in town!
Showcasing a selection of thought provoking works on a theme of “none shall pass”.
October 2019
milk and jug on kitchen floor
February 2020
June 2020
purist phase
August 2020
August 2020
smashed series
August 2020
smashed series
November 2020
(provisional)
December 2020
(artist at work)
December 2020
(final)
December 2020
December 2020
mixed flavour Dreamies cat treats on carpet
December 2020
December 2020
January 2021
Categories
recipe
Bagels are one of Pip’s favourite things, specifically:
- New York Bagel Co plain bagels
- New York Bagel Co cinnamon & raisin bagels
He likes to buy these bagels from a supermarket. He likes the look, smell and feel of these bagels. He likes it when other people eat these bagels. He does not like to eat these bagels. This is his bagel protocol.
ingredients:
- 1 New York Bagel Co plain bagel
- 1 New York Bagel Co cinnamon & raisin bagel
- Philadelphia cream cheese (full fat)
- marmalade (any sort will do*)
- Lurpak spreadable butter (full fat)
- Marmite
method:
- Cut each bagel in half. Allow Pip to sniff the cut side of each half-bagel.
- Toast the bagel halves, ideally simultaneously in a four slice toaster. Allow Pip to sniff the cut side of each toasted half-bagel.
- Liberally spread the plain bagel halves with cream cheese. Liberally spread the cinnamon & raisin bagel halves with Lurpak.
- Splodge some marmalade on top of the plain bagel.
- Open the marmite and keep it to hand. Don’t use the marmite on the cinnamon & raisin bagel halves.* Don’t use it at all.
- Place the plain bagel halves on one plate, and the cinnamon & raisin bagel halves on another plate. Allow Pete to sniff the bagels thoroughly.
- Serve.
serving notes:
Dad and I must eat the bagels.
The bagel protocol can be initiated at any time of day.
Dad and I no longer like bagels.
* take a moment to be grateful for this.
This is not a post about futurising so if you were hoping for that, move along. This is a post about wee and time travel!
the scene
So it’s 6pm on 4 January 2021. If you are reading this in the distant future [why?] the context is that the world is a year into the Covid-19 pandemic; the UK has just left the EU after years of Brexit; we are heading into the depths of winter after a damp squib Christmas not being able to see family or friends; today was the first day back at work for me and Dad as well as being day four of Dry January; and Boris Johnson is expected to announce at 8pm tonight that England is going into another complete, schools-shut, lockdown from midnight.
earlier
It became apparent overnight that Pip is going through a loss of bladder control episode. This has happened before: He needs to wee often but doesn’t seem to feel the usual urge so has an accident with no tell-tale jig or other visual signs that it is about to happen. It tends to last a couple of days before resolving spontaneously so is inconvenient and frustrating but nothing to be worried about. [Strangely, it also seems to be coupled with bouts of the giggles. Not sure what the correlation is and I’m not keen to do the research.] Pip woke me and Dad up at about 3am; needed showering and his bed changing. Another accident at 9am (kitchen corner sofa!) and then again at about noon (brother’s bed!) followed by an al fresco pee while walking the dog at 3pm. Me and Dad had a day full of bed stripping; Pip showering; clothes washing; sofa sorting; and following Pip around the whole time to make sure he’s never not on something waterproof. Dribble patches are a signature design feature in our house so I’ve spent a lot of the day diagnostically sniffing wet patches.
precautions
During a break from work I was fortunate to be able to source a packet of Dry Nites bed mats. I then set about applying these to vulnerable surfaces: I stuck them on the neurotips’ beds; on our bed; on the leather sofa; on top of the existing mat on Pip’s bed (layering!) and set about popping one in between the cover and pad of each of the seat cushions on the kitchen corner sofa that weren’t already baptised. I was on a roll and feeling like I was smashing incontinence when Pip DID A WEE AT THE OTHER END OF THE SOFA, on the biggest cushion of all: the chaisy bit intended for reclining during one’s moments of relaxation. It’s the single most unused bit of furniture in the house. Now with a great big wet patch. It’s 6pm and I’m feeling defeated.
future me* to the rescue!
After washing Pip I set about trying to dismantle the chaisy bit to get the cushion off and then undo the concealed zip to get the cover off. And then the miracle: there is a Dry Nites bed mat attached to the cushion pad, under the cover, and exactly in the right place to have saved the foam from a total soaking. It looks vintage, it’s clearly been there for some time (years!) but how? I’ve zero recollection of putting it there. I can only conclude that future me nipped back and stuck one in while I was washing Pip. Thank you, future me! You’ve made me feel totally invincible and ready to face whatever is ahead in these peculiar times, because you’ve got my back, right? Bring it on, Boris.
*DISCLAIMER: may have been future dad. But I’m equally happy about a future dad having my back!
This is post 1 in what I expect to be a series related to the “lockdown” in place in the UK as a result of the coronavirus pandemic in 2020. I expect there to be a series because the lockdown situation has meant that Pip, rather than going to school, has been spending a lot of time knocking around the house, which has given him an opportunity to establish some amazing new routines. One of the more bizarre ones is related to dog poo.
BACKGROUND
We are fortunate as a family to cohabit with a very nice dog by the name of Alfie. He welcomed himself in when Pip was five years old and showing a delight of all things canine. Since then, Pip has had a fairly on-off relationship with Afie. When it’s “on” Pip likes to be licked in the face and encourages this by illicitly feeding Alfie digestives or just by having a face covered in digestive crumbs. When it’s “off” Pip acts as if Alfie mostly isn’t there, much as he does around our other pets. Like all dogs Alfie disposes of his waste every day and usually chooses to do this on grass somewhere. This basically means our lawn a lot of the time, so we have a pretty slick scoop-it-up-in-a-mini-shovel-pop-it-in-a-bag-stick-it-in-the-wheelie-bin routine going on.
IMPACT OF LOCKDOWN
Up until lockdown Pip has taken zero notice of this routine. To all intents and purposes he was taking zero notice of any aspect of Alfie’s dog poo. Lockdown changed everything!
One day early into lockdown we had a really protracted in-and-out of the garage session during which it was clear Pip wanted something from the garage but we had no clue what. We went through all the usual suspects:
- gym balls to be pumped up
- bubble machine
- something in the washing machine he wanted
- we’d hidden something in the garage to get it out of circulation and he’d realised this and wanted it back*
After a bit of helpful shoving and hand holding by Pip we realised he wanted us to take a dog poo bag out of the packet in the garage. We were then escorted into the garden, directed to pick up the mini shovel, and then guided to pick up a newly deposited dog poo. Oh wow, Pip has been taking notice of this after all!
Later the same day, Pip again indicated that he wanted something out of the garage. Easy, we were thinking. He wants to pick up more dog poo! the Evidence:
- Exhibit 1: directing us to the garage
- Exhibit 2: cursory inspection reveals fresh dog poo on lawn; guilty looking dog
- Exhibit 3: Pip is patting himself on the bum, this is interpreted as a sign for “poo” because it’s what we tend to do to confirm olfactory readings that Pip has done a poo.
I very smugly trot into the garage to collect a bag but something is not quite right. Turns out after a bit of back and forth that there are two types of dog poo bag in the garage: green and black. And so we learn that sometimes Pip wants us to use green, sometimes black. There is a complex set of rules behind this which we don’t understand yet so Pip has to guide us to the correct bag each time. It’s usually the opposite of the one we have punted for.
So now we’ve lapsed into a nice routine where, roughly three times a day, Pip pats himself on the bum; guides us to the garage; helps us to select the correct dog poo bag; ensures we use the mini shovel; points out where the dog poo is before giggling hysterically as we bag it up; and monitors correct placement in the wheelie bin. No variation from this routine is allowed, goes without saying.**
Pros:
- lawn is being kept immaculate
- opportunity for signing: has since learned the correct sign for “poo”
- nice little lockdown activity to fill a dull moment
Cons:
- SOMETIMES THERE IS NO POO BUT WE HAVE TO PICK IT UP ANYWAY.
That’s right, sometimes there is no poo but we have to pick it up anyway. One morning Dad cleared away a dog poo before Pip had got out of bed. So when Pip did amble downstairs to start the day with a constitutional dog poo clear-up he’s basically horrified, and in a state of disbelief, to find none in the garden. But since we’d already begun the routine, and no-one knows how to exit without actually picking up dog-poo, we found ourselves patrolling the garden endlessly looking for poo that wasn’t there. In the end I managed to sneakily transplant onto the lawn a suspicious looking lump of soil and bag it super quick before it could be analysed. The subterfuge worked. LEARNING: don’t clear up dog poo without Pip being there to supervise.
PHANTOM POO (or THE BOY WHO CRIED POO)
Alfie used to be a fairly regular three-poos-a-day dog but since his exercise levels, and therefore diet, have been cut back during lockdown he isn’t quite as productive as he used to be. The first effect of this is that Pip isn’t getting as many op-poo-tunities as he used to and understandably he’s not happy about it. Often we get called out to clear poos that aren’t actually there, but should be there. We call these phantom poos. They are tricky things to deal with because they should be there, they just aren’t. And as it’s hard to prove a negative (TRUST ME PIP THERE ISN’T ANY POO!) phantom poos usually end up with all parties being frustrated. They also undermine the trust you have in the real poos, which actually are there but you don’t believe are there. (TRUST ME PIP THERE ISN’T ANY POO! OH HANG ON…THERE IS. SORRY.) I really wish Alfie would stop doing phantom poos and stick to the real ones.
*E.g. helium bottles; toilet rolls, tea bags. Don’t ask.
**Except for just the once when out of the blue Pip brought Dad an open bag of dog poo, while he was cooking lunch! Again, don’t ask.
The writing of this blog post was interrupted three six times by phantom dog poo.
Categories
water bottle
Quiz time! Which is the correct water bottle? (Answer at the end.)
FAQs
Why do you have five identical bottles? They are not identical. Notice that there are two shades of lid, and that two of the bottles have name labels. One of the name labels has worn blank, the other one hasn’t. We have five as a CONTINGENCY because this is the only thing Pip will drink out of when not in school. This is in fact a failed contingency, as Pip does not treat them equally, because he can tell that they are different.
Why doesn’t one bottle have a lid? It does have a lid, it just doesn’t belong on the bottle. It belongs on a shelf in the cupboard above.
Why aren’t all of the bottles in the cupboard? The bottles belong on the worktop.
What, all of the time? Yes, all of the time. Unless the correct water bottle is with his packed lunch.
Can you move them to wash them? Washing is done covertly and ideally taking care not to mess with the various lid, cup and bottle combination shown above. Pip has a photographic memory, however, so he will restore the correct combination if needed.
What are the two spare cups for? For drinking water at home after mealtimes. Not during mealtimes. After mealtimes.
What happens if one of the bottles breaks, gets lost etc? That is a question for Future Mum or Future Dad.
Categories
park run
Park Run is totally amazing.
INTRODUCTION
One of my favourite things at the moment is going to our local Junior Park Run with Pip. Dad and I hit upon this idea last year when we were scouting around for a physical activity to replace the swimming lessons which ended rather abruptly after an Incident. Something on that another time maybe.
RAMBLE ABOUT RUNNING
Pip can definitely run, we know this. He walks on the balls of his feet, always has done, no exceptions, and runs like that too. His favourite place to run is probably on the beach, which is handy as (provided he is wearing something distinctive) he is good to go for miles and miles whilst remaining visible and safe. (We don’t try and keep up with him because he becomes a child of the beach and in those moments we are like shadows and not necessary. We only become necessary if he walks over someone’s picnic or assimilates into someone else’s family, in which case we retrieve before a re-releasing.) I understand that this balls-of-the-feet thing is a more instinctive and efficient way for humans to go on foot, and that heel-strike walking and running is learned (copied) and less efficient. Whatever, that makes sense because for the first 8-odd years Pip didn’t copy a single thing. Not a nod, clap, point, “ga-ga”, nose-pick, tongue poke, spoon feed, book read, bum wipe or cuddle. Because copying, my friends, is a way of learning. And learning is something that Pip does differently to neurotips. He mainly rediscovers and works everything out for himself. This is not efficient. This is a LEARNING DISABILITY in the very sense of the term.
RETURN TO MAIN STORY
Back to Park Run. Trainers are on (me and Pip!) and we set off round the course. There is an initial bit of cajoling of the “lets run Pip!” type before we lapse into a leisurely walk with runners streaming either side. There is a lot of sheep poo and tussocks to navigate. Do we go over, around or through? Such an adventure. We soon end up with the lovely tail-walkers. I explain that we are going to be very slow indeed but they reassure us that they are happy to have a very slow walk, it’s what they were hoping for, and we all turn our faces into the sun and proceed. There’s a bit of the initial talk which covers all of the key bases. Age: 12. Name: Pip. Won’t answer. Not ignoring you, just doesn’t talk. Never has. Autism. On we go. We get a lovely guide to all of the subtle features and nuances of the beautiful course, which would be so easy to miss if you were going above 2mph. Pip does a couple of bursts of running but it clearly doesn’t feel right so we just walk. Every marshal we go past requests a high five from Pip and he leaves no-one hanging. High-fiving is one of Pip’s strengths so this is a very good fit for him. Towards the end he does a cossack squat every ten paces or so. I register this but don’t try to interpret. I’m feeling a bit chilled out. By the time we get to the finish funnel the full complement of volunteers, parents and kids is cheering Pip across the finish line. The atmosphere is lovely. (Fair to say I feel guilty that everyone is waiting for us a full twenty minutes after the previous runner crossed the finish. The guilt, the GUILT!)
We scan our barcode. We thank profusely. We pledge to return.
Now Pip is running. He’s running fast, and with direction.
To the toilet.
Except the toilet is locked and out of commission.
So our first lovely parkrun ends with Pip very conspicuously peeing into a nearby bush with signifiant help from me as he’s never done a stand-up wee before. I came to the view that this was less undignified for him then allowing him to wee himself but I’m pretty sure it attracted a lot of attention from the National Trust patrons who passed during that 30 seconds that felt like an eternity.
EPILOGUE
Pip has been back and done almost every Junior Park Run since then with Dad or me filling the tail-walking role (which is very efficient, I think, and fun because we get to wear orange hi viz and a tail). Sunday is the only day of the week that Pip spontaneously gets up and willingly dresses himself and goes to the loo ready to go out. By week 2 Pip has a developing fan club at our local run. He is getting welcomed by all of the volunteers and some of the regular participants. By week 3 he’s feeling very at home, supervising the warm-up (never taking part, mind). Week 4 and while waiting to start he wanders up to me and gives me his FIRST EVER SPONTANEOUS HUG with a big smile on his face. I told all the volunteers. Week 5 and all of a sudden Pip is appearing on the rota as tail-walker and being given the orange hi viz and tail to wear when we arrive, and quietly getting the volunteer credits. Week 12 and Pip gets his half marathon wristband, which he wears during that week’s walk. He insists on returning it at the end: It belongs with all of the others in the crate. The crate that he helps to sort out every week so that it’s in the Proper Order, and which he is allowed to do without question. Because he has been embraced into the Park Run family.
This is the magic of Park Run.
Categories
petit filous
This might have been my first proper attempt at chronicling the complexities of Pip, got out of the archive from April 2018. Bear with it….
In the supermarket with Dad and both siblings, Pip makes it clear he’d like to visit the petit filous aisle. This was expected, as Pip is a bit crazy for the stuff! We can’t usually leave the supermarket without a six pack in each flavour which he will then insist on opening all at once immediately on getting home. He doesn’t really want to eat it, but we tend to encourage him to have at least a hearty spoonful out of each pot, and we’ll eat a bit of it too otherwise it would be a crying food waste. Standard protocol is that we then have to wash out all of the pots, and separate them (but only after he’s at a safe distance with his fingers in his ears, because the sound of the pots being snapped apart from each other scares him). He then takes the pots upstairs and adds them to the collection he already has. In his bed. Because he sleeps in a rustling, strawberry-scented, sea of filous pots. Hundreds of them. Today, he wanted the giant family pack in the supermarket. Dad decides this is a step too far and refuses the giant family pack in favour of a six’er. Pip thinks we don’t understand so re-emphasises his wishes which, for a non verbal child, involves a lot of noise and grappling over the filous. In the end a physical extraction is needed using the piggyback technique*. This used to be quite good camouflage for a physical extraction but it doesn’t pass under the radar quite so well now that Pip is nearly 11. Especially when he’s shrieking at the top of his voice so that everyone is nicely invited to share his displeasure. Siblings calmly help Dad gather the rest of the shopping and checkout. The angels. Fast forward to tired Dad putting the shopping down in the kitchen. Pip makes a beeline for the filous. And sticks it straight in the bin.
Pip’s autism seems to involve him having an internal narrative which is totally different to, and often in complete conflict with, that of most other people. And because he doesn’t speak (never has!), he can’t explain the subtleties of his brilliant alternative narrative to us dumbos who are locked into a narrative dictated by society and perceptions of what is ”normal”. It’s hardly surprising then that he frequently, literally, bangs his head against a brick wall.
Autism can be very different to Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, being a savant with numbers or drawing, finding friendships difficult, or saying the wrong thing in a social situation. It can be not being able to speak, needing banging noise around you all the time but being frightened of the sudden sounds of a balloon popping, a polystyrene pizza base being broken or Christmas crackers. It can be banging your head against a wall and sleeping in a sea of petit filous pots.
*Big shout out to Dad for still being able to do the piggyback extraction.
Updates for 2020:
- Pip no longer sleeps in a sea of filous pots. He totally moved on!
- Piggback extraction technique is a distant memory, owing to a huge growth spurt. Halcyon days.
autism: you can't beat it 