A Robot That Teaches Emotions

I know what I'm getting C for his 3rd birthday in a couple of weeks: a new robot from Plan Toys designed specifically to help ASD children identify emotions, address sensory issues, and improve fine motor skills. As a bonus, the robot is made in an eco-friendly fashion.

I just read about it on Co.Design, and I've already ordered one from Amazon. C seems to understand "happy," but it's less clear to me that he's able to interpret other emotions like anger, fear, or surprise; this is a common ASD trait.

According to the article, "Laura Chun Urquiaga, a former photojournalist, designed the toy in consultation with a team of experts in ASD, ranging from occupational therapists and parents of children with ASD to researchers and teachers. In response to parent requests for a toy that didn’t look like a special-needs tool, Urquiaga settled on a robot figure that would appeal to both boys and girls, as well as children without ASD."

I hope C enjoys it; I'll report back when he's had a chance to try it out.

Missing Monkey

I feel terrible. Tonight when I put C in bed, he wouldn't stop crying. I asked him what was wrong, but he couldn't respond coherently. I knew he was exhausted after a full day of therapy, so I rubbed his back until he drifted off.

It wasn't until an hour later that I realized what was bothering him: I'd left his monkey downstairs. This is the monkey he carries with him everywhere, the monkey that's been with him since the beginning. This is the monkey he treasures so much that we actually have a backup just in case. This is the monkey that, for a while, C referred to as "Munchee."

C, sometimes I wish I could understand you better. I really do.

But it's not his fault. I should have been paying closer attention. I brought monkey upstairs and put him right where he belongs.

Nose Kisses

I am above C, looking into his eyes. (I feel grateful that he is able to make and sustain eye contact with me.) After a moment I ask:

"Nose kisses, C?"

Without hesitating he reaches up, puts his hands on either side of my face, and pulls me toward him. Our noses touch, we rub them back and forth, and we both giggle.

Outside Looking In

Here is a photo that breaks a tiny bit of my heart.

It was taken yesterday at a third birthday party for one of the girls in C's preschool. The children—including C's twin—were engaged in dancing, singing, pretend play, and other group activities. Meanwhile, C was mostly on the outside, the periphery, looking in, standing to the side, his little hand curled in something I think of as a manual question mark.

But maybe I'm painting an unfair picture of the situation: C wasn't hiding, and he wasn't in a corner. He wasn't frightened and he wasn't resistant. He was watching the children, observing, taking it all in. In fact, several times he did participate, in his own unique way. And he was clearly enjoying himself.

Still, it's painful to realize that this isn't the picture of typical childhood shyness or fear; this is autism...and I'm just going to have to learn to be okay with that.

Get Closer

I hadn't intended to post videos on ASD Dad, but this one conveys in a very powerful way the need for greater acceptance and compassion toward those we might otherwise ignore. Watch to the end; it's only one-and-a-half minutes.

A brief description from the video's creator: "Pro Infirmis conducts an experiment: there are only a few people who don't have empathy with disabled people. Nevertheless, the passenger seat in the public bus next to Fabian often stays empty. Handicapped people are a regular part of our society."

Fabian is the man in the suit.