Try To Make Sense of The Things That You Think

Filed Under (Humour, Writing) by Estee on 29-09-2010

I am in writing mode which is why my blog posts are coming slowly these days. Stay tuned for one, although as in the title of this ditty, I’m trying to make sense of the things I think. That, admittedly, can take some time.

I came across this with Nick Hornby. As many of you are mother-writers/bloggers out there, I thought you’d also find the “blaming it on the kids” excuse for not writing/sacraficing his “one shot at immortality,” amusing.

OOOOOO…aaaaaaaah. I like this:

Toilet Humour

Filed Under (Humour, Joy) by Estee on 21-06-2010

You have to hand it to kids. Just when I forget to laugh, Adam comes up with something to make me laugh about.

Like all boys his age, the proverbial fart joke is something hilarious. What makes the fart so darn funny? I remember my step-children, now all adults, in the backseat of our Durango farting and laughing. “Whoever smelt it, dealt it!” They would giggle, sounding like hyenas in the back seat between whines and squeals, between farts and trying to pinch and smack each other. Of course I laughed. The child’s giggle is infectious. The fart is eternally funny. It takes pretense back down to the level of human.

I was reminded of all this — what seems like eons ago now — when Adam farted this morning before school. “Oops you farted,” I commented and his giggle, the one he never wants to end, ensued.

I suppose I’m writing this not just because farts are funny, but because such toilet humour does not get lost on Adam — the autistic child who supposedly doesn’t get humour. It seems so incredible to me now these vast generalizations are so not applicable in the autistic people I meet.

While I’m not sure what this really says about me, tell me really if this doesn’t make you laugh. It makes Adam laugh!

Click for fart sounds here.

Autism Levity

Filed Under (autism, Humour) by Estee on 18-03-2010

Heck we need to laugh. Or at least I do. In fact, I think most autism parents needs to laugh as do autistic people about autism.

I was with my friend from the National charity Unity for Autism today, Kathy Deschenes who, like me, completely volunteers her time to her charity. Kathy has written as of yet, an unpublished book on all the funny stories about herself and her autistic son. Kathy is not only a dynamo in pulling people together, but her charity this year is raising money to provide mentors at York University — something that I am personally thrilled about.

Kathy is exuberant and she has the levity that we all need when it comes to thinking about autism and raising our children. I think her book would be a boon to the existence of us all because fair laughter often takes the stigma away. When we laugh, we come closer together and laughter can dispel fear.

We are talking about how her son Lee, now seventeen, had few words like my son Adam at the age of eight. Lee has been accepted to attend a college for Art and Design but wants to get into another college for computer animation. Kathy is relaying to me over coffee how frustrated we can become as parents, thinking that our children’s distress is caused by one thing (like how I’m worried a marital separation may have effected Adam) and how, when our children can tell us, what we thought was the cause of stress was/is not the culprit at all. Sometimes the media images and messages about autism can get us so down that we forget that there is a bright future and while it may be a little different, it isn’t any less hopeful or humourous than life itself. It is a welcome message as the tendency I have is to blame myself as so many other parents do. So here is the story:

Lee, at the age of 8 1/2, still with very few words was given an option for dinner one evening.

Kathy said, “Lee, what would you like for dinner: macaroni and cheese or grilled cheese?”

Lee replied, “Pizza, pizza, PIZZA!”

“No Lee,” she said, trying to get him back on track, “your choices are macaroni and cheese or grilled cheese.”

“PIZZA!” he replied again.

A battle of wills ensued and Lee was sent to his room. Two minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was pizza delivery.

How on earth did he order a pizza? Kathy thought.How can a non verbal autistic child order a pizza? Industrious Kathy got down to investigating. She called the pizza company.

“We thought it was a little strange,” they told her. “But we called back and it was the correct phone number.” Kathy had not heard the telephone ring. Lee had managed to turn off all the ringers.

So little Lee, now big seventeen-year-old Lee, then with very few words knew some essential scripts for ordering that pizza. “Cash, yes, that will be cash.” His ability to learn scripts coupled with resourcefulness got the job done.

Now that Adam is willful this story makes me relax and I can laugh a little more. Adam is at an age where he is beginning to test me. He will want things I do not want him to have. He will do things that can really tick me off and I have had a tendency to worry too much. Instead, I should consider that he may even end up ordering his own pizza some day soon (or some other online delivery I imagine, since Adam is incredibly adept at figuring out the computer…perhaps I should watch my credit card!).

The moral of this story? Not only is it good to have a belly laugh at some of the antics of our children, but also, maybe both Lee and Adam will order their pizza and get to eat it too.


About Me


I’m a PhD candidate at York University, Critical Disability Studies, with a multi-disciplinary background in the arts as a curator and writer. I am the Founder of The Autism Acceptance Project (, and an enamoured mother of my only son who lives with the autism label. I like to write about our journey, critical issues regarding autism in the area of human rights, law, and social justice, as well as reflexive practices in (auto)ethnographic writing about autism.