Home School's Science Fair: Alex's Tank-Bot

Yesterday was a full one, and we did make it to the science fair. It was the home school science fair, for students enrolled in homeschooling in our county. The woman who coordinates these events, seminars, classes and activities is wonderful. She is one of those dear people that extends herself and with sincere warmth and kindness she makes everyone feel special. I might ask for her number, so I can call her over summer and get good advice, affirmations and encouragement... for the children... of course, for the children.


Alex has been reading "Robot Builder's Bonanza," a technical and, for him, inspiring book all about designing and constructing robots. Not light reading. My favorite part about this book may be the suggestions to visit thrift shops and look for parts that can be rescued and salvaged for making robots. No need to flog the wallet on specialty kits and fancy sets. Alex decided to give robot thrifting a go and we headed to our favorite thrift store for supplies.

Here are some excerpts from Alex's report and presentation:

Hypothesis:
My objective was to make a robot from found parts and broken toys. I wanted to see if I could find a remote controlled device that was not working, repair it and possibly make it better than it was before. I hoped to make the toy operational again and was interested to see whether I could give it more power, greater range of motion and to add an arm to it.

Method:
I went to the thrift store and searched in the toy section, the home appliances section, and the electronics section. I was looking for remote controlled toys that were broken, that also looked salvageable. I found a 6-volt Radio Shack replica tank that had been discarded. It was missing a custom manufactured rechargeable battery pack, and its charger. In the other departments I did not find anything to help my experiment.


Process and Results:
The first thing I did to make repairs to the tank was to find a new battery pack. I bought 2 battery packs, to hold a total of 8 AA batteries. To prevent the total voltage from exceeding 6 volts, I had to parallel wire them. “Parallel wiring” is when you attach 2 positive wires, of the same color (usually red,) to a load. The “load” is whatever you are powering. I also had to attach 2 negative wires, of the same color (usually black) to the load. It is important for it to not exceed 6 volts to prevent the motors overheating. If the motors overheat they can melt the protective coating of the wires, and short circuit the motor; this can start a fire.


The antenna was glued to the turret and I had to pull it out. I measured the black wire that served as an antenna and cut a new antenna of equal length. I soldered the new piece to the section that had been cut. Instead of reattaching it to the turret, I raised it above the chassis by slipping it through 2 soda straws that were taped together. The new antenna stood vertical out of the center of the vehicle.

With the improved antenna, and the new battery pack, I am able to control the robot vehicle from over 100’ feet away. The vehicle’s base and drive system is extremely powerful and can carry 3 pounds, and possibly 4.

Next I decided to build a remote controlled arm to add to the vehicle. Inspired by suggestions from the book “Robot Builder’s Bonanza” by Gordon Mc Comb and Myke Predko, I designed a cable-operated grabber. It works by winding a string around a part of the gearbox that was intended to rotate the turret of the tank. Modified like this, the gearbox now opens and closes 2 arms or “fingers” that extend from the front of the vehicle. I built the arms from pre-cut steel brackets, 2 rubber bands, tooth-lock washers, and locking nuts, and I added a second antenna to link with the controller for the new arm. The arm needed a separate power supply, so I equipped it with its own 6-volt battery pack.



Conclusion:
I hoped to build a robot from broken toys and electronic parts, to make it better and equip it with an arm. I wanted it to have greater remote range, be more powerful, and I wanted it to have additional features. The tank I found was not functional, but I was able to repair it. By adapting the antenna I increased its range, so I can control it from greater distances. The arm I designed and built allows me to retrieve objects, so that the robot can manipulate its environment.

I learned how to solder wire using a hand held electric soldering gun. I learned how to use a digital multi-meter; it tests voltage, it tests to see if circuits are complete, resistance and amperage. I practiced patience and diligence, reading the “Robot Builder’s Bonanza” for guidance, and I was able to successfully achieve my goals. In the future I hope to attach a video transmitter, so I can see the vehicle’s path from a remote location.

My heart swells.
Pardon me for a moment while I breath deeply and reflect on the joy I have thinking of my children. William helped carry in Alex's equipment. Max was on hand to keep an eye on everything. Maria took a nap, and was very cooperative and helpful when she woke. Alex was reluctant to enter the science fair, because of uncertainty, shyness and such, but William encouraged him, pushed him... I'm just trying to express how happy it makes me that these children look out for each other, they offer support and concern and they make me very proud. I cannot think of a better indication of success than having children that are creative, nice, inquisitive and a pleasure to be with.

This Morning:

Max: The dishes in the dishwasher look dirty. Can I use a fancy plate?

Me: Sure.

Max: I didn't know we could use these plates.

Me: You can only use them today and never again.

Max: Oh.

Me: Just yolking.

Max: Yolking?

Me: Joking. Yolking. Egg yolk.

Max: Why do people assume everything can be funny? Some things are just weird.


Last Night, Driving Home From Mom's Night Out:

Maria: I love dat pardee. And all the ladies are so booful.

Me: I loved the party too. Maria, you were a lady too, so good.

Maria: No. I'm not a lady. I'm jus' M'ia. And what dos ladies called?

Me: Linda.

Maria: Oh, yes, Leenda.

Me: Anne.

Maria: Anne. I like Anne. She's booful.

Me: Vera

Maria: Veela

Me: Jola

Maria: JoLA

Me: Janice

Maria: Janice

Me: Yanina

Maria: Fun-sheena

Me: Belinda

Maria: Buhlinda

Me: Josie

Maria: Joseee

Me: And Gigi

Maria: And Gigi, and the chockie fountain. And it was a pardee, and Lucas showed me the chockie fountain. I like Lucas. So fun.

What the Future Holds

Both Max and Alex are working on entries for a Lego contest. The theme: Build the hot new gadget of the future... What will everyone want 50 years from now?


What will people be clamoring for in 50 years? There are so many amazing gadgets already. Sometimes I wish we could decree a cease fire... an agreement not to make any new gadgets until we can catch our collective breaths and fully absorb and appreciate all the technology at our disposal already.

Max envisioned a hand held computer with an attached stylus. "It has an antenna, and you use it for wireless internet." And he adds, "You can use the stylus to type things on the keyboard, which is located in the screen. It has 2 buttons for the power, and the power comes from a processor that collects the energy from sound waves." He says, "Using its processor you can make charging it easier by talking to it."


I think I say this every time the boys show me one of their creations: I only ever made roofless houses, boxes with imagined furnishings and gardens and tiny kitchens. Max made a streamlined, curved frame, a monitor and pen pointed stylus with its own built in holder.


No one diagramed this. He did not follow a plan or instructions. I have a deep and abiding admiration for creativity, for the skill required to envision something and the ability to make it real. Plumbing, wiring, planting a garden, plowing a field, sewing a dress, writing software, baking bread... these are the skills that impress me. I suppose there will be marvelous gadgets 50 years from now. There are marvelous gadgets today. But I hope in 50 years children will still empty a box of parts and pieces and make something all their own, something from the recesses of their hearts and fancy.

Top of the World
We've been sleeping with the drapes drawn open, so when we wake, the city is there, winking back at us, even at 4 in the morning. A block away, I can see a star of lights turning slowly on a rooftop, and the William Sonoma and Tiffany stores. And it's strange to remember that we are so high up, so far from the street, the taxis, cable cars and sparkling sidewalks. A faint, distant hum is building, like hearing the surf from far away, and I know that the city is waking too.

Yesterday was a clear blue sky day, a walk and explore day, a House of Nanking day. We started with a driving loop around the north side of the Bay, roughly from the Financial District to the Golden Gate Bridge, across and around to Point Richmond and then back over the GGB and to The Exploratorium, where we found the best parking space. Do you know why we found the best parking space ever? Yes, The Exploratorium, most awesome science museum in the world, is closed on Mondays. That was probably the only disappointment of the day.

After the driving tour, we parked at the hotel and set forth on foot. Those hills! We covered a lot of ground, many blocks, up and down. Chinatown was our main destination and we made a very thorough tour. It took a while for Max to warm-up to the newness of all the hustle, bustle, sounds, and sights, which is not unexpected with Max. By evening time we were all really enjoying ourselves. We stepped in to lots of shops and discovered strange, cheap, expensive, and rare treasures, and also plenty of junk. It was awesome. Our late lunch was timed perfectly, because we did not have to wait an hour to squeeze into House of Nanking, where the chef came out and decided to order our food for us. The best, and that's all I am going to say about that... no need to draw more crowds to our favorite spot for tasty eats.

Lots more to say about our walking day, like the fun we had at the park and the place selling live chickens, but Geoff's alarm is reminding me that we need to pack, sort, pack, roll sleeping bags, shower and pack some more. It's time to get to the airport. It's time for the Midwest leg of our journey. Did I mention it has been warm and clear-skied here? Such a contrast awaits us! OKay. Time to go. No time to waste. Must get busy. I'm not full awake, actually, so I am stalling.

One thought: My traveling email box fills quickly and Geoff emptied it last night to make room for new messages, so if anyone emailed me on Sunday, I may not have got your message... sorry. Plenty of room in the box now!

Can you tell I am not a big fan of air travel...?... stalling... humming... Well, it won't do to skip my shower, so I am signing-off. Thank you for your comments... it sure is fun sharing our adventure with friends!

Where Was I?


This morning I was still trying to sort through the deep thoughts I have had since my "New Year" Post. I got a lot of concerned comments and responses, and it's taken a lot of sorting of feelings, ideas and theories for me to come around to addressing the issues before us. I rather casually mentioned a theme that we have been coping with quite frequently in the last few months: Max is not having a good school year. Our son has a long and unique history, largely related to Asperger's Syndrome or as we put it, with knowing grins, "Geek Syndrome." We have had such tremendous success helping him socially and academically that it's easy to forget that the underlying issues are still present. Except when he starts to experience difficult passages, developmental challenges, rites of passage that seem to derail his steady progress.

Interestingly, when he was initially, officially, diagnosed, the therapist sympathetically and sincerely hoped we would consider home schooling Max. She thought it would be the most beneficial way to address his needs. We were already immersed in home schooling with both William and Alex. Keeping Max home, teaching him through patient and targeted methods, seemed like the easiest and most prudent solution possible and we were happy to add him to our student body. Max's introduction to school outside of the home came last year and it was highly successful. With some adjustment he found a new and stimulating environment with new friends and interesting topics to explore. This year has not been so easy. He is resisting and unhappy. His frustration lasts well beyond drop-off time and does not abate over the weekend. Other teachers, parents who know him... they all notice his sadness, his withdrawn mood, his lack of interest.

It is confounding and frustrating for us, as his parents, that when he is in a symptomatic-Asperger state, he is extremely difficult to communicate with. He reacts to stress, anxiety and frustration by either shutting us out completely or acting with irrational anger and aggression. Gleaning information, finding clues about his turn around, his waning interest in school and friends has been slow and mostly inconclusive. However, during the break we had some insightful break-throughs and glimpses of our happier, relaxed, confident Max. It seems that time in his home, on familiar ground, with our own rhythms and projects was a benefit to him. We aren't the only ones that noticed the difference in his mood and behavior. It was confirmed that he was a different child by parents from school we met during the break.

Max has a wonderful teacher. Really. I feel so grateful to her, for her concern, for her understanding, for her willingness to approach Max with a tremendous compassion for his way of seeing the world, and she has done a considerable amount of adjusting her program to fit his needs. I could not find a more ideal situation for him, and yet she and I both have been drawing the same conclusion: Max may be better off returning to home school. His teacher thinks he benefitted from what and how he learned at home, and she believes he could continue to benefit from learning at home. Hearing this came as a surprise, and it was a pleasant affirmation. It seems that while he is in a wonderful environment, one that he willingly agrees he wants to return to next year, it is possible that where he is at emotionally, or in his development, requires a different approach.

Knowing that home schooling has been a proven success for Max, I have fewer doubts about bringing him back home. I am less concerned about him missing out on typical grade school experiences, especially when at this time he seems to be regressing and losing academic and social ground, rather than excelling in school. When our children have special needs, we learn so much... so much more about being receptive to finding a different approach, to looking at predicaments with perhaps an unexpected perspective. Whatever concerns or doubts I might have about making a change are negated by the realization that another year of learning at home may preserve his love of learning, his confidence and curiosity, and those are vital and precious to his education. No school or program will be of any use if he continues to doubt his own abilities.

There. I've said it. I am probably leaving out all kinds of details, supporting evidence, anecdotal affirmations etc... but sometimes we just have to see the path and start walking.


While I have been grappling with evidence and options, paths and destinations, and other deep thoughts, I have also been meditating with fabric. Maria's kitchen suffered in our lead paint purge, and I have been meaning to find a fun, creative and acceptable alternative to painted wood food and questionable plastic foods.


Ta-Da! With imagination and fun stitch patterns on interesting fabric, you can have an entire fabric menu! Bacon and eggs, for example. And though I am allergic to soy, you are welcome to imagine those are soy strips! Naturally, the strawberries are organic.


I am looking forward to adding corn, carrots, tortillas, tomatoes and french fries to the line-up. In the meantime, I am happy to report that Maria finds these a happy and very acceptable alternative. Even the "broccoli tree."

One more thought: Thank you. Thank you for sharing your concern, your thoughts and feelings. Feedback and comments are such a wonderful gift, and I really appreciate hearing from you. It helps to face the world with encouragement and other points of view.

Back to The Cutting Board
We bake during the holidays and we decorate too, but there is one family tradition we have not visited in 7 years, not since we discovered Max is sensitive to artificial dyes and additives. It's a tough allergy to cope with, since the stuff is everywhere. I am always looking out for options and opportunities. Last year we found candy canes with natural food dyes, and one year we even found undyed cotton candy at Disneyland... that was amazing. It's not that candies and sweets are a necessity, but when you are deprived of them they become 100 times more enticing, and there are even regular "healthy" foods that add dyes, so suck.


Ahh the Mother of Invention... where there is a need to feed, a mom finds a way. Don't gag. We actually iced our cookies with broccoli. Yup. Broccoli in a blender, with milk and confectioners sugar, and a drop of vanilla. Weird, I know, but it looked good and tasted good, and I think if we were icing Christmas tree cookies it would have been really cool looking, because of the broccoli-pine needle bits!


And best of all Max got to enjoy and eat the classic Christmas cookies seen in so many family photo albums from Christmases long ago. We made the icing thin enough to paint on the cookies, which is a really, really fun way to decorate them.


From strawberries we made pink icing, and they didn't need vanilla, because the natural strawberry flavor was so yummy.


Purple icing? Blueberries make beautiful, delicious purple icing. A few years ago I found a company that makes a few sugar sprinkles in natural purple and orange... we've rationed these expensive treats until now. Maria was a little heavy-handed in her method. Art can be so subjective!


You can hear me laughing, right? This was just busting me up.


We had so much fun. We made such a mess. We had so much fun.





Hey, I just heard from Jennifer and she did some pondering and head shaking, and when she finally came out of her shock, she decided she really could use a digital camera. Isn't that great? She doesn't have a digital camera. Jennifer this little camera is going to change your life!

And Laurie? Laurie, get ready for some fun in the kitchen! Honestly we all love the apple tool and the other goodies are all favorites too, so I think your family is going to have a great time. You know, in about 3 or 4 days you should buy a huge bag of apples, wash them and be ready to play.

3 Cheers For Diversions



Thank you to friends who have been reaching out to us and passing along condolences to our friends. Your words and thoughts are dear to me.

So, life can move us in unexpected directions, and as we try to figure out how to cope with the ebb and flow of grief, with the sudden onset of tears, it helps to connect with friends and it helps to become absorbed in diversions. I found a way to do both. Yesterday I managed to accomplish a few responsible and practical matters, and naturally there is more to do. I also became completely immersed in sewing. I finished a third square of the Scrap-X quilt I am learning from Happy Things. Then I cut out circles for yo-yo's. Maria was playing with the squares I am preparing for some kind of a Christmas quilt... I am talking about sewing bliss, denial, distraction and losing track of time and heartbreaking emotions.

It was perfect, almost. Max asked if he could make a quilt too. I had to wake-up from my reverie and address the work and patience it would take to lead a 9 year old through his first major sewing project, and, truthfully, any other time I likely would have found some excuse to stall, to redirect, because I am a mom. Moms always have more going on than they can realistically accomplish, moms need their own activities to help them retain some fraction of their sanity, and moms need to balance guidance and intervention with letting go and trusting. This mom, anyway. Fortunately, not only have I been reminded that life is precious, I found the resolve to embrace a moment that might have gone unattended...

"OKay. Sure. I can help you make a quilt." I was calculating how much time it would take and trying to decide how much he would do and how much I should do.

He was already pulling out fat quarters of my precious stash. Be still my greedy heart. Seeing the colors and nature theme he was after I was happy to remember a collection of insect prints my Mom gave me years ago. I never could figure out what to do with them, but held on to them because they are cute and maybe some day... you know... some day I'd do something with them. Max, frog and dragonfly fan that he is, fell in love with them. I thought they were a bit bright and clashy. He thought, "What's next?"

He ironed the 1/4 and 1/2 yard fabrics.
He measured the smallest piece and we decided 5.5" squares would work best.
We cut as many squares as we could and came up with a total of 49, then I cut some solids to add to the collection.
Max asked, "What's next?" He hadn't lost any steam.



I told him he had to lay the squares out and make a design. I was daunted by the randomness of the colors and the varying amounts we had of each print, but he jumped right in and began creating a 7 by 7 square quilt. It wasn't like he was designing or planning or figuring out. He simply saw what he wanted and set it all out in a few minutes, then he made a switch of colors, because he liked the greens to be dominant...


and voila! He turned all those little squares and bold colors into a pleasing and fun pattern! Fast, easy, confident... he is masterful. I am so proud, and I have so much to learn! We finished the quilt top and he wants to add a green sash and then a blue one. It will be done in no time and he will be sleeping under it...

Thank God I stopped stalling and worrying and made time to be part of something so beautiful. Max and I had a great time working and learning together.


We connected. We enjoyed our diversion. It was perfect.
Alex wants to play next. He's thinking of a "complicated" applique quilt and I think that's perfect too. I can't wait.


I wish there were little Mending Kits for all of life's problems.

Paper Dragons and Copper Chickens

Our first summer day out took us east, where we stumbled upon the Origami collection at the Mingei Museum. It was third Tuesday free day! We easily found parking! I love it when good things coincide to make my life interesting and easy.


I love it when we discover something unique and intricate that makes us gaze with admiration, like folded paper dragonflies.



Alex and I like this wasp.


Max, our resident Origamist, would not look at the displays. He was in a mood. He sat on a bench and stared at the street outside the main entrance. Sometimes Asperger's Syndrome can be so vexing, but I've learned to give him his space and allow him to cope with the world as best he can. While he sat, we marveled at paper boxes, and the creases and folds of paper snow.


This is one of the few I thought I could readily try for myself.


I would like to try making these paper boxes. The shapes are lovely, but I think the prints on the paper make it especially engaging.


This can't be from a single square of paper, can it? I think the curator could have given more information about the processes involved in some of these.


Max said, "Other people's creations aren't as interesting to me as what I can compose myself." And so he was happy to find a table, where he could make his own origami. He made a finger puppet in the image of a fox's head.


Alex made a swan. I bought paper to bring home. I'll Google 'origami boxes.'

We picked up sandwiches from our favorite market, where Manuel still knows the children's names and he fed them Fuji apples. We haven't lived in that neighborhood in 4 years, but I love going back to Major Market. After our parking lot picnic, I took the children to my new favorite thrift shop. It's huge and always unbelievably busy. I have to loop and wait for a parking space. Unlike Anthropologie, where cool things are meant to look flea market hip, the thrift store is packed with undiscovered treasures that can be brought home for pennies on the dollar.


Everyday at the thrift store is a new day in discovery. The inventory changes hourly. Yes, there is a lot of crap, and tasteless things too. There are also unexpected finds, like the slot machine Max wanted. We passed on the slot machine and bought a very nice pair of binoculars instead.


I like it when they sort things by color, so you can look on a rainbow aisle of shirts, or blue spatterware.


Themes are fun too, like this Pez collection. And the best part is finding something in good condition, something for .95 cents, something you know you can use and enjoy.


When it's just right it feels like you've won a prize


and it feels good to find the right fit.


I came home with Pyrex mixing bowls, little ones. I've been wanting some small bowls, and these are sturdy and cheerful.


Sometimes you have to splurge a bit when you find something that's too appealing to pass up. For $1.95 this copper chicken came home with us.

Today we go to Maria's dance class, and the boys will get their first chance to see Maria in school. Then we take our car for a tune-up, in preparation for our road trip. We've been doing lots of little things to get ready. The tent is pitched in our living room. Max and I tested our tent skills and made sure it's complete and sound. I found the camp stove. We need propane and one more sleeping bag. The week will be full. How is you summer starting off?

We Shall Overcome
Maybe we've dreamed too big. No.
Maybe I didn't start working soon enough. Not true.
Perhaps there are days when, simply by coincidence, a lot of things can go wrong. True. Sad, but true. At midnight when Geoff and I were trying to rectify the cake, and after a whole lot of other trouble-shooting, I was tempted to say we were doomed. I am not taking that path. Today's birthday celebration will reflect some of our ambitious efforts, all of our happiness, and will be full of merry making.


School is out! Reminds me of an English class I took as a 5th grader in Guatemala (I was there a month.) The teacher, a woman not opposed to rapping knuckles with the end of a yardstick, was teaching us the seasons in English.

"First is weenter," she pronounced with authority. "Theen it is eh-spring, theen, fall and autumn. Now repeat."

Everyone repeated.

I repeated, but then tentatively I raised my hand, glancing with one eye at her old wooden yardstick standing against her cold metal desk. I asked, "What about summer?"

"Summer ees an American holiday."

And what a holiday it is! Summer solstice is almost a week away, but anyone's summer can begin when school is out, when Coppertone is flowing and grills are glowing, when traffic is beach bound. We cheered aloud when our tires rolled out of the school's parking lot.


But before summer began for our American family, we spent one last day at school, where we celebrated Father's Day with hot dogs and sports. Technically, and literally, I was not supposed to be there. "No moms allowed" read the invitation. Bah! I lurked and I snuck a hot dog and I took lots of pictures. It was nice to end the school year with laughter and last hugs from friends.

How many times have I heard from worn out children, "I hate school." "How many days 'til summer?" "Why can't we just stay home today?" "I don't want to go to school." They didn't utter these phrases every day, but often enough, so I knew they would be thrilled for this golden opportunity to revel in their freedom and recharge their batteries.


Not 1/4 mile from the school Max said, "I don't want school to be over."

Twenty minutes later, he insisted we enroll in computer camp and figure out when he can take math tutoring, and he asked why we had to leave school.

Home, barely recovered from the full day and facing the challenges of preparing for today's party, Max sat with paper and pen and began formulating worksheets for his "School Club." He devised worksheets for Roman numerals, and grammar, and diagramming sentences. While I cooked enchiladas and made salsa he administered math quizzes and tested my knowledge of the parts of language. This is going to be a very long American holiday.

Max's Progress Report:

"Max is very hardworking and enjoys finishing his work daily. He excels in math. We are working on having Max realize that he is an exceptional student. His progress in reading is continuing. Max's polite and respectful attitude allow him many friends in the classroom."

The only issue is Max's self-esteem. He does not accept that he is doing very well. I was tearful listening to his teacher praise him; she thinks he is amazing and she loves having him in her classroom. He always completes his work and it is always correct. He does not misbehave, not ever. He needs to be told what to do only once. He has many friends and many children seek him out. This little boy, challenges and all, is doing so amazingly well that teachers from all over the school tell me how great he is. I see the whole history. I think of where we were 6 years ago, the setbacks we went through 4 years ago, and I am profoundly amazed and thankful for this moment in time. Maybe he cannot understand how awesome he is; I look forward to trying to help him realize how well is work is paying off.

Have you ever wondered about the: Easter Dating Method? No, not how to find a sweetie to take to the egg hunt, but an explanation for why Easter always comes up on a different March or April Sunday. I have been trying to emphasize to the boys that they should search and research for the answers to all their questions, and I guess I should remember to do the same. Now I know it's about the moon, the Paschal full moon, and I now know that this year Easter comes on April 16th.

Holly may have a more precise count for how many years she and Rich have hosted Easter; they have had us in their home and garden for many Easters. They always have their home tastefully and sweetly decorated for the rite of Spring, and they always have a bounty of favors hidden in their yard. And in recent years Holly has cast-off her 'I can't cook cloak' and prepared an omelette buffet. Scrumptious. Fun for all. Why mess with perfection?

Well, for the past four years Max has struggled and suffered over Easter Sunday. Indeed, Max struggles with many things, particularly anything that involves change, leaving home, traditions, and social situations. He insists that we must celebrate Easter at home. He has begged, pleaded and insisted on this for four years, and every year we have resisted his demands. He has fun at aunt Holly and uncle Rich's. He has come to appreciate their celebration, the attention to bunny decor and Spring ambience. He likes Holly's pancakes and finding his basket in the backyard, but he still wants an at home Easter. How can I emphasize enough the genuine anguish and anxiety Max suffers over these situations? It's not like a bad mood or selfishness. It's Asperger's Syndrome. It's an imperative need to be in the most familiar space possible, to minimize variables, to understand every minutia, which takes step by step literal translating and repeated explaining. He isn't going to be dissuaded, or distracted. He can't be reasoned in to submission.

Last year Max spent several weeks, literally, agonizing over the issue of Easter. We insisted that the plans were made, and would not be changed. He cried. He had to be told many times, over many days where we were going, at what hour, for how long, who we would see, what we would do and in what order. He had to be assured that he would not have to eat certain things, wear anything other than his red shirt and blue shorts, and that it was not possible to simply change the plans. He has remarkable reasoning skills. In fact he is so rational that in a practical sense he is irrational. It takes extraordinary energy to hold my ground and assure him too, to diffuse his anger and frustration, and dispel his fears, which is why I gave in last year and promised him that this year we would host Easter.

Max reminded me, six weeks ago, about my promise: "Remember, you said we can have Easter at our house this time." He asks every few days whether it's time to get ready for Easter. And something else: He clings to tradition and patterns, and he is aware that he actually has more familiarity and comfort with Easter at his aunt's house and what transpires there, so he is in turmoil over whether we should go there or stay here, and if we stay here "can we do everything the same as at Holly's?"

The latest decision is to have Easter here, he feels certain. I am far less certain. "Where are our Easter decorations? Who's coming? What will we eat? When are we decorating for Easter?" These are the questions that Max poses with more and more frequency, urgency, concern. Relentless child. There are no Easter decorations, we had some, once, but they are lost in the moves, the garage. We can decorate for Easter after we've finished more packing, cleaned the clutter, put away the last of the Halloween decorations, clean again. Of course we'll need to buy some bunny bowls, tulip cups and an Easter tree first. And I can't help but feel a little remiss about the Omission: The meaning of Easter, the whole holy day, spiritual aspect. At this point in my life I am feeling far removed from resurrection, from Spring and rebirth, renewal. This must be another one of those maturity moments, an opportunity to model for my children the virtues of hope and optimism, to show them how to graciously prepare for a celebration, welcome friends and family, welcome a renewal and move forward in the great circle of life...

I am far, far removed. I think I will start with slow, regulated breathing. Thank God Easter isn't March 23rd like it will be in 2008.

This is good stuff... Surfers Healing. Geoff and I are in awe of the healing, soothing, and calming effect water has on Max. We got him on a boogie board this weekend, and the fun never stopped.

Question: Can 5 servings of fruit come from 6 slices of raisin toast?

Officially overloaded! We must finish moving in; unpacking and organizing. Alex, Max and I are aching to decorate for Christmas, but unpacking comes first. I have been making a slide show from our trip to Tacupeto, and doing school lessons, while emptying boxes. There's always cooking, dishes and laundry, and our car needs to go in for service. This morning I initiated crafts for school, and now my domestic gains have slipped; there is a parade's worth of cut paper scattered across the office floor. I seem to recall that it's been six months since our last dental check ups. Wasn't someone supposed to schedule new appointments? Also, flu shots...is it too late? And life with Asperger's Syndrome is adding dramatically to our stress levels. We met with our favorite acupuncturist this week, in our quest for coping skills. Can Christmas really be 22 days away? I would try meditation, but I fear slipping into a deep coma.

One year of writing Chicken Blog has me thinking about our arrival here; how our family came to live at this almost rural, rambling ranch house with turkey vultures overhead, rabbits in the pasture and cowboy hats on the coat rack. A friend of mine likes to say "life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

This the house that Max chose, or at least that is how we tell the story. We hadn't planned to move, to buy a home far from our neighborhood, to make a big change. We had planned to stay at Neptune, in the beach house. We liked the sound of the surf, walking to stores, and the barber shop, and neighbor's homes. We had done so much to make the little bungalow a comfortable home, that leaving was a ridiculous suggestion.

In the Spring of 2001, when Max was 2 and a half he got sick. The pediatrician diagnosed him as having bronchitis and insisted Max needed antibiotics. We went home with the big bottle of pink stuff and measured it in to his favorite fruit smoothie. After one day Max stopped talking, and by the second day he only screamed and hit himself or others. And when he would look at me, it was a vacant look and totally without recognition. I made him cry, the way a stranger can make a baby cry. He did not know me or his father or the boys he had called "the brothers." Sometimes he would start to speak, and as though his memories had been erased he stammered and paused and tried to start again, but the words did not come. His face would collapse in an expression of desperation and frustration.

We went back to the pediatrician, and I explained all that we were experiencing. He had been on the medicine for four days; "could he be allergic?" They were certain that he could not be allergic; his symptoms were not consistent with an allergic reaction. Their suggestion or 'diagnosis:' his symptoms were the result of being the last baby in the house. I was too indulgent and had babied him. He was simply spoiled and I needed to reform my parenting.

Her dismissive and and uninformed perspective was neither constructive or fair. She wasn't even our regular pediatrician. She did not know him. She did not know me. She did not know that her head was up her own ass and that her perspective and comprehension were profoundly compromised by her ignorance and obscured vision; that was my emotional response that I bottled up inside. To her I defended my parenting and explained that the greater likelihood was that Max, as a third son, born during the construction of a kitchen, with 9 people living in a 1200 sq ft house was slightly neglected, but not indulged. He was a bright and active child that related well with his family, and was expected to put up with errands, construction, homeschooling. Making the case that "I literally neglected him" was not my point, but there was really no foundation for her saying that he stopped talking because I caved in to his whims and babied him.

Nothing else in his life had occurred that was new or different except that he was taking pink medicine and it was the first time I ever gave him antibiotics. I did an experienced, intuitive mom thing and stopped giving him the antibiotic.

We took Max to a psychiatrist. He didn't want to diagnose what he saw. He advised us to be cautious about seeking a definitive term to explain what Max was going through. He wanted to take blood samples and stool and urine samples, and he evasively, psycho jargoned his way through a minefield of scenarios and possibilities and many other things that I frankly stopped listening to. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew what he could charge our insurance for.

By this time Geoff and I already knew what Max was "going through." Every Google search and diagnostic flow chart pointed to Autism. The symptoms, the timing, everything was classic, even obvious. And we couldn't know how deep he might be. We couldn't know if he'd speak again, or look at us, or even know us. The reality, especially the unknown of what we were facing was like being repeatedly punched in the stomach. It knocked the breath out of us again and again and again. We cried, almost inconsolably.

Desperation is the mother of action and invention. We were not finding help or support from the traditional channels; the doctors we saw were in denial; we didn't feel we could afford the luxury of denying what we knew, so we invented our own solutions and formulated our own plan for action.

We determined to asses all of our options and to asses all of our needs, with special consideration of Max's needs. This led to the realization that our affection for our house stood in the way of meeting the greater physical needs of our growing family. My cousins, who had lived with us for 6 months while they rebuilt our kitchen, had already moved out, but we were still too crowded. Seven of us, including my grandparents, were living in the three bedroom house. Max had never enjoyed a clear floor to crawl across or a room that didn't already belong to adult activities or big brother toys. We had managed to juggle things and activities and people, but this was not an effective solution. We realized, with some shame, that Max was growing up in a constant state of 'don't touch that,' and 'that's not yours,' and 'be careful there.' I had built a model in my mind of remaining at this house forever, because it was lovely, and could provide stability, and because it was for me a symbol of our success. Now as dearly as I had held to my old values I was determined to release anything that impeded our ability to physically and emotionally meet our family's changing needs.

It had already been a full week since Max had stopped talking and four days since his last dose of medicine. Already one nurse and a good friend had confirmed that what he was experiencing could be a reaction to the medicine; not to the antibiotic, but to the red dye. Parents of Autistic children learn from experience that many artificial dyes and additives cause severe reactions, and other diet changes often make significant behavioral differences.

Max was less violent, but still not speaking and he was tense, restless and easily frightened, and frustrated. We all lived with fear and anxiety of doing something that would set him on a screaming session or cause him to cry pitifully. His brothers came to us in a joint mission to seek the truth. Compassionately they asked, "Is he going to die?" We said no, and we told them all we could from what we knew and we promised to keep looking for more answers.

In the past I have found answers to frustrating medical problems through Oriental medicine. Colic, breast cysts, and hives so severe they caused bruising over Alex's entire body; all of these were cured simply and immediately by a practitioner of acupuncture. I took Max to see Dr. Alex, a pediatric acupuncturist. It had only been a week since Max was diagnosed with bronchitis, but all other events had overshadowed his initial illness. Relieving Max of his cough and congestion were Dr. Alex's first concern. He explained that all the issues, the physical and behavioral symptoms, were influenced and affected by the body's attempt to deal with the bronchitis. By relieving the bronchitis we could have a clearer view of his other needs.

Max sat in my lap. It had been 7 days since he recognized or fully trusted me. We still couldn't get a complete sentence out of him, or comfort him when he cried. He sat on my lap and Dr. Alex whispered to him. He held his hands gently in his own and spoke to Max in an equally gentle tone. He had Max's attention, and I will never forget the way Max's body slowly released its tense, agitated posture. Dr. Alex had begun to massage pressure points in Max's feet and around his knees and I felt Max actually relax. Dr. Alex talked about releasing Max's congestion, and he decided to also focus on "balancing his energy." At this point Max turned to face me and he whispered in my ear, "This is a good doctor. I like it here." He spoke. Eloquent and simple, and the dearest words I ever could have hoped for.

Max slept well for the first time in over a week. He was still sensitive, and sometimes irrational, easily upset or unable to express even simple thoughts or needs, but we felt the most hope we had in a week and it was inspiring.

We recommitted to our plan to find a home that provided enough room for Max and for everyone to have safe and adequate space for living and learning and playing. That weekend we went out with a list of possibilities and a map stuck all over with little Post It markers. In Southern California the equation is simple: moving east = more house for less money. So we began to acquaint ourselves with inland North County. For a while visiting big, strange houses was a fun game for the boys, but it did get tiring after several days of house hunting. And not surprisingly, Max was growing especially tired of driving from place to place. He was beginning to mumble angrily, and we recognized that he needed a break.

We were a little turned around and took a left turn, when we should have gone straight, and I turned to Max and promised a cool drink and home soon. But then we saw yet another 'for sale' sign, so we turned down the street and drove slowly passed the long, white ranch style fence that was in front of the house and enclosing a corral. The house looked big, but a little strange, and probably out of our price range and we were tired and ready for a break, so Geoff turned and we were driving away when Max asked, "Horses?" There were four horses in the pasture in front of the house. "Yes, Max, horses," I replied and Geoff kept driving away. Max spoke again, loudly, "What is all that stuff on the ground? Is it kaka?" I looked back at the pasture and sure enough there was plenty of horse kaka laying around, but by now Max was asking, insisting, on seeing the kaka.

When your son has stopped talking for a week any request, even driving back to look at horse droppings has to be honored. Geoff backed up and Max's satisfaction was quite gratifying. William and Alex laughed and we were all very happy to hear Max so clearly express his desire and be interested in something, anything. He repeated his questions about the horses and the horse's kaka, and he pointed solemnly at all the droppings that were scattered over the acre of land.

It's hard to be discreet driving one mile per hour in front of someone's home and then driving as slowly backwards and then forward again. We were mortified when we realized the home owner was walking down the driveway to meet us (or accuse us?) We apologized and explained about our little boy really wanting to see her horses. We never would have stopped or looked at the house or considered it, but she insisted we come up for a closer look and a tour of the house and to meet her horses. In time we realized that the unfinished, single story ranch house was our best choice.

This is the house that Max chose, is how we grin and tell the story. "The Horse House." The horses are long gone. There are chickens and cats here now, and three young boys and two grandparents, and me and my husband. We live in "El Rancho," where we are far from the things we knew, and where we have learned to operate a tractor and live with heat and wildlife. We keep looking for answers and inventing solutions, and we have found a great deal of happiness here. Max says amazing things and is astonishingly perceptive. He is also very easily frustrated and he can be very "frustrating," as he told us when he was almost three years old. He has all the signs of being on the Autism spectrum. It is a strange and confounding path. Our time here, the space the boys have to explore, the serenity of the view and the luxury of being able to move here, all of this has gone a long way to helping us and Max. We have also affirmed our resolve to let our love be the guide and strength in caring for our family; I thank God for the blessing of this. There is more to tell, and new stories are forming everyday, but this is the story of how Max found our house, and how we became The Jolly Green Rancheros.

"Okay. Everybody, attention. This day we are going to have another party. And to make this an original party, we are going to clean." Max, as we are all gathered together having cookies and milk for breakfast, is making the day's plan. He rummages through the kitchen drawer, the one with all the ladles, spatulas, tongs and runcible spoons. Gleefully he pulls out a pretty fork, with a scrolled handle and three extra wide prongs. "And this is for the salad! Mom, when are you making the salad?" Max marches around the kitchen, the fork is his baton, and he is drumming up support, "All the interesting things will be for the party. We will have a fire and salad and we will clean. Now, let's go."

To know Max is to know a leader. He is confident. He is honest, except when he lies. When he lies he is confident and relentlessly bold. He is a visionary.

"There are still some rules: It is that I am the judge at this party. At parties, children are the judges," Max has more to offer regarding his agenda.

It is raining, in a comforting and winter kind of way. The house smells of Sunday morning children, bathed the night before, and of oatmeal cookies, hot from the oven. The wind is scattering soggy leaves and blowing 'round the windows. Geoff built a fire that is crackling, popping and hissing, it implores you to sit beside it, read a book, watch the rain travel in little rivers down the window panes.

Did someone say 'God is in the details?' The details here are infinite. The poppies blooming in the pasture, as orange as the fruit in the neighbor's trees. The crows that fly spirals in the sky, black on gray. Fabrics, washed and stacked, quilter's squares for comforting warmth. There are details to see and hear. The washing machine humming and spinning, the children breathing and growing. I hear chickens discussing weather and seeds. I hear the pages of a book turned slowly and I hear a boy reading, not aloud, but with a soundlessness that is somehow quite loud.

Alex is constructing weiner dogs from Zoobs, and a cellular phone, and a scorpion. He brings out each creation to explain its function or purpose, and Max follows him from the same playroom asking, "Okay, but is that for the party?"

First Day of School and Other Signs of Maturity

Today was Max's first day of preschool. We enrolled him at the community center, and he'll go Thursday and Friday mornings. I wanted him to be comfortable about going, but I was a little pleased when just before entering he squeezed my hand and asked me to come too. "This is for you and the other children," I assured him. He let go and stepped forward.

I walked away, but I didn't let go. I hung out at the community center and caught up on paper work for William and Alex's curriculum, and I made 2 sneak visits to watch Max. He played outside and looked delighted. Later, he was on the area rug, stringing beads and still happy. So good. All around him were caring adults and creative outlets and small tables and bright colors. Good.

Meanwhile, Alex and William were home with Grandma. I left each of them with a list of chores and school assignments. "Get busy. I'll be home soon and I expect you to be ready to help me take Grandma to her doctor." William called me on my cell phone and asked for help with his math. "Alex is reading," he informed me. "And we finished our chores." By the time Max and I returned home, the boys were dressed and ready to do the day's errands. They did more school work in the doctor's waiting room, and driving home too. Very, very good.

Max liked his day and told his great grandpa all about it, or the highlights at least. Apparently there was some singing, and he also stamped a snowflake on his wrist. He said some children were his size and some were smaller. Alex pulled his list out of his pocket and beamed, "I did it all." William 'did it all too.' Max said sympathetically, "Mom, it's too bad you missed it all."