This is one of about 327 conversations I had with the Bean yesterday. This may be the reason I was in bed at 8:30 and slept until 6:15.

Ellie: Mom, does Santa have toes like me?

Me: Yes honey.

Ellie: Mom, but are Santa’s cute like mine?

Me: I don’t know honey. I’ve never seen Santa’s feet.

Ellie: Mom, were you a baby?

Me: Yes honey. A long time ago.

Ellie: Mom, was Daddy a baby?

Me: Yes honey. A long time ago.

Ellie: Mom, was Santa a baby?

Me: Yes honey. A long time ago.

Ellie: Mom, was Santa born with a beard?

Me: No honey.

Ellie: Mom, does Santa have choppers?

Me: Yes honey. He needs them to eat the yummy cookies you leave for him.

Ellie: Mom, why is there smoke coming out of your years and your head twitching repeatedly to the left?

Santa arrived at our house last night to accommodate all of our holiday travels. Bless his heart. I am truly glad this comes but once a year. I’ve already enjoyed a bloody mary. Here’s why. One, I like them. A lot. Two, although Santa brings the holiday spirit, cheer, and above all gifts, he’s also a taker. Yes. The big guy takes. He is the remover of routine, the safe haven in which the Ellie Bean finds comfort.

Opening gifts was great. It’s what happens afterward that brings forth the ticking in my left eyelid. See, things have to be perfect. Lined up a certain way. Unencumbered by other things like a piece of fuzz or stray tissue paper. Many toys are required to remain in their packaging for an indefinite amount of time. Adults not positioned in their assigned seats are reminded to refer to the Aspergers guide for their assigned holiday scripts. Note to self: prepare several copies of script for family members we will be visiting for ten days. Yep. Ten very long days. Note to self: purchase more bloody mary ingredients.

We are all getting slap happy. A frequent thread in conversation is tequila. Margarita recipes. Tequila shooters. Tequila with beer. Tequila on beer. Mainlining tequila. At least we’re not obsessing about crystal meth.

During these past two weeks, Ellie has not only taken up potty training again, but she requests the pee pee dance parade around the building to share her success with everyone and anyone who will listen. This is the same child who would have rather chewed on broken glass than be visible to a stranger much less announce to a group that she pee peed in the potty. Less than a seven months ago, claps and cheers from anyone (family included) would have sent her into a melt down of unbelievable proportions, leaving her shaking like a cold chihuahua. Today, we had to circle the building three times to seek out our personal cheerleaders, who now have to all come home and live with us so the pee pee dance parade can continue.

Ben and I have also made the commitment to eliminate the words “no”, “don’t”, “stop”, and “can’t” from our vocabulary. Rephrasing statements that include those words takes lots of practice (and libation referred to in paragraph one). For parents who I think are pretty good at praising, I am continually surprised by the frequency and ease with which we say them. It’s amazing how quickly we’ve seen changes already with our still imperfect attempts.

Tomorrow is our last day and I’m already looking forward to staying in my jammies all day Saturday. I’d like to give a shout out to a certain husband who is quite remarkable. He worked 3rd shift Monday and Wednesday, came home, showered, and went straight to training with us. He works again tomorrow night. Twice during these two weeks he has had interviews, both on days he’s been up all night. If I could love him anymore, I’m pretty sure my heart would explode. Ellie is the luckiest girl in the world to have such an amazing and dedicated Daddy.

Today I met Aaron Likens. He works at TouchPoint doing community outreach. He is 27 years old and has Asperger’s, although he wasn’t diagnosed until he was 20. He’s a delightful speaker and is able to laugh about his rigid behaviors and thoughts. I can relate to anyone who can laugh about themselves. I knew I would hang on his every word. What I didn’t know is that he would say things equivalent to a verbal gut kick that left two large lumps in my throat. I looked like I was swallowing a camel.

Aaron mentioned when he published his book, “Finding Kansas”, his father told him that he never really knew Aaron until he read that book. Kick/lump number one. During question time I asked Aaron if he felt loved. He took a moment to process the question and very honestly said, “In different ways. My mother would ask me that, and I told her that I would miss her if she weren’t here.” Kick/lump number two. It is what it is. I hope Ellie always feels like I get her and that she is loved. So loved.

Then, I got an additional kick/lump when I got home (mind you, not fully recovered from the above kick/lumps). Another mom in our training recommended I read this. Needless to say, I’m feeling a bit tattered this evening, but I take an enormous amount of comfort in being with others who are in the same boat.

I think a couple of ibuprofen, a meeper, and some bad tv is in order for the rest of the evening and tomorrow we’ll get up and do it all again. Preferably, with fewer kick/lumps.

I really don’t see a need for us to continue with our training for the rest of the week. Ellie’s got it down and has now applied ABA to Meeper (beloved blanket). I overheard her from the kitchen talking to him.

“Now Meeper, I know you’re upset. When you use your calm voice, then we can talk again. [waits a few minutes and then leans down to kiss Meeps] Good job calming down. Now you get a choice. Would you rather color or watch tv?”

One of the staff members taking care of the kids during our sessions pulled me aside to tell me about a conversation between the staff member and Ellie.

Ellie: I need you to remove the poop from my pants.

Stephanie: You know Ellie, if you use the big girl potty, you won’t have to wear diapers anymore.

Ellie: Yes. I know that. Now can you remove my poop?

We’ve all heard about children with 112 degree fevers, exploding diarrhea, and skin falling off only to be completely cured by the time the car is parked in the pediatrician’s lot. That’s what has occurred for us during therapy sessions with Ellie the past two days. She has met all gazes with direct eye contact, smiled like a pharmaceutical rep, charmed everyone with engaging stories about taking a train trip to Chicago (that one’s for you Aunt Jen), and performing each and every task asked of her effortlessly. Then, she polishes her halo. I actually had to reread her diagnosis to make certain I wasn’t hallucinating and then check her fingerprints with her birth certificate to make sure I didn’t accidentally bring home a different child from Target or something.

While in the car this afternoon, the Christmas channel played the Charlie Brown song when the kids sing “Christmas time is near. Happiness and cheer.” Ben turned it off after two minutes.

Ben: Ugh. I hate that song.

Me: Yeah, it is on the whiny side.

Ben: I don’t really enjoy listening to children sing.

Me: [saying nothing but looking at him with interest.]

Ben: [totally back-pedaling] I mean. I’m glad that they do. It’s good that they want to. It’s just that I personally, don’t find it aesthetically pleasing.

Ellie knocked this one out of the park! Although we’ve attended numerous gatherings at (not to mention lived with) my cousin’s, I have learned (the hard way) that detailed prep work is where it’s at. I was unable to gather the photos of all in attendance, so a couple of hours before the party, I relied on my buddies Fisher and Price. I dragged out the house and all the people I could find, including the vintage pieces I had as a kid.

I set all of this up on the floor and started with our family driving over, getting out of the car, knocking on the door, and mimicking the chaos of the dogs going bonkers, the loud hellos and big hugs and chatter and clinking of glasses and where we would sit and what we would talk about and what we would eat and how things would smell and how we might eat some more and have dessert and talk again in different rooms and then maybe play games and get our coats on and tell everyone goodbye and go home and pass out.

Ellie didn’t take her eyes off of this five minute presentation. When I was finished, she wanted me to do it again. She watched with equal intensity. She asked for seven repeat performances and I obliged. On the eighth, however, my heiney had fallen asleep on the hardwood floor and I needed the assistance of all adults present. After I got up, she played with it all. This is miraculous in two ways. One, she didn’t miss a single detail and two, it was the first time she’s ever played with the house and people on her own.

We had such a great time. Ellie even played a dice game with us, waited her turn (and there were eight of us), rolled the dice, picked out the ones she was supposed to without being reminded and passed the cup. It was like sitting next to my Grandma at the retirement home. She was that cute!