fall asleep.”
Rose had discovered the crescent moon position online. The idea was to offset Max’s tendency to arch his back when he slept, a position that reinforced the disorganization of his nervous system. Todd thought it was so much hocus-pocus. Sasha was far less skeptical. Spooning with Max—squeezing and pressing him into a C-shape—might help him figure out where he was situated in space, diminishing his anxiety in the crucial minutes before sleep. There wasn’t any clinical evidence of the efficacy of this technique. But this was typical of treatments for autism, a fairly recent epidemic with more anecdotal than scientific information at hand.
“That’s one way to look at it, Mr. Doom and Gloom.” Todd’s skepticism finally compelled Rose to chime in. “But he slept through the night several times last week. I’d say the crescent moon is a great success, among other things.”
“Can you be more specific?” Sasha asked. She picked up her pen to take notes.
“He’s starting to dress himself on a regular basis. He’s eating with a fork and drinking out of a regular glass, not a sippy cup.”
“Significant mechanical improvements,” Sasha said. “Any developmental milestones?”
“He’s learning to listen better. Sometimes it looks like he’s mouthing words, copycatting what I’m saying. Like the game, only much more sophisticated.”
“I’ve noticed that, too.”
“Then why are you two focusing so much on a couple of isolated spinning episodes?” It was more an accusation than a question. “Everybody slips into old patterns once in a while. Overall, Max is making incredible progress.”
A red flag went up. Rose’s tendency to lump Todd and Sasha together usually signaled an unprecedented level of denial on her part. Sasha wondered if Todd noticed it, too. He pushed his plate back and rested his elbows on the table. He wasn’t so much looking at Rose as watching her. Sasha always found his expression difficult to read, the carefully controlled face of an air force officer trained not to betray his emotions. Rose, on the other hand, didn’t even need to look at him to know what he thought of her progress report.
“Good point,” Sasha said. “It’s important not to underestimate Max’s progress. At the same time, we need to be realistic.”
“See what I mean by doom and gloom? You make reality sound like a limitation.”
“Reality is reality,” Todd said evenly. “Wishful thinking doesn’t change a thing.”
He tried not to sound derisive. In turn, Rose tried to ignore how stupid her husband sounded, even more short-sighted, if possible, than Sasha. The Source enabled Rose to transform their myopic perspective into an opportunity for growth. Thoughts were the ultimate reality, far more real than numbers recorded in logbooks.
“There’s nothing wrong with visualizing the best possible outcome,” Rose said. “It’s better than wallowing in negativity.”
“Nobody’s wallowing in anything.”
“What best possible outcome did you have in mind?” Sasha asked.
The question caught Rose off guard. She had obviously overestimated Sasha’s capacity to conceptualize Max’s complete recovery, let alone manifest it. No doubt her training was to blame, the deficiencies of pure science. Sasha was a behavioral therapist through and through, devoted to positive reinforcement rather than positive thinking.
“Max is a very special child,” Rose said. “Quite possibly a prodigy.”
Todd and Sasha exchanged glances. A New Age extravagance had crept into Rose’s vocabulary, a new level of conviction the bad cop would eventually have to contend with. But for the moment Todd seemed content to let Sasha coax his wife down to earth.
“Sometimes kids just need to be loved for who they are, not who we want them to be.” Sasha had been on the brink of this declaration for months. At the risk of insulting Rose, she should have said it long ago. Part of her job was managing
Rose had discovered the crescent moon position online. The idea was to offset Max’s tendency to arch his back when he slept, a position that reinforced the disorganization of his nervous system. Todd thought it was so much hocus-pocus. Sasha was far less skeptical. Spooning with Max—squeezing and pressing him into a C-shape—might help him figure out where he was situated in space, diminishing his anxiety in the crucial minutes before sleep. There wasn’t any clinical evidence of the efficacy of this technique. But this was typical of treatments for autism, a fairly recent epidemic with more anecdotal than scientific information at hand.
“That’s one way to look at it, Mr. Doom and Gloom.” Todd’s skepticism finally compelled Rose to chime in. “But he slept through the night several times last week. I’d say the crescent moon is a great success, among other things.”
“Can you be more specific?” Sasha asked. She picked up her pen to take notes.
“He’s starting to dress himself on a regular basis. He’s eating with a fork and drinking out of a regular glass, not a sippy cup.”
“Significant mechanical improvements,” Sasha said. “Any developmental milestones?”
“He’s learning to listen better. Sometimes it looks like he’s mouthing words, copycatting what I’m saying. Like the game, only much more sophisticated.”
“I’ve noticed that, too.”
“Then why are you two focusing so much on a couple of isolated spinning episodes?” It was more an accusation than a question. “Everybody slips into old patterns once in a while. Overall, Max is making incredible progress.”
A red flag went up. Rose’s tendency to lump Todd and Sasha together usually signaled an unprecedented level of denial on her part. Sasha wondered if Todd noticed it, too. He pushed his plate back and rested his elbows on the table. He wasn’t so much looking at Rose as watching her. Sasha always found his expression difficult to read, the carefully controlled face of an air force officer trained not to betray his emotions. Rose, on the other hand, didn’t even need to look at him to know what he thought of her progress report.
“Good point,” Sasha said. “It’s important not to underestimate Max’s progress. At the same time, we need to be realistic.”
“See what I mean by doom and gloom? You make reality sound like a limitation.”
“Reality is reality,” Todd said evenly. “Wishful thinking doesn’t change a thing.”
He tried not to sound derisive. In turn, Rose tried to ignore how stupid her husband sounded, even more short-sighted, if possible, than Sasha. The Source enabled Rose to transform their myopic perspective into an opportunity for growth. Thoughts were the ultimate reality, far more real than numbers recorded in logbooks.
“There’s nothing wrong with visualizing the best possible outcome,” Rose said. “It’s better than wallowing in negativity.”
“Nobody’s wallowing in anything.”
“What best possible outcome did you have in mind?” Sasha asked.
The question caught Rose off guard. She had obviously overestimated Sasha’s capacity to conceptualize Max’s complete recovery, let alone manifest it. No doubt her training was to blame, the deficiencies of pure science. Sasha was a behavioral therapist through and through, devoted to positive reinforcement rather than positive thinking.
“Max is a very special child,” Rose said. “Quite possibly a prodigy.”
Todd and Sasha exchanged glances. A New Age extravagance had crept into Rose’s vocabulary, a new level of conviction the bad cop would eventually have to contend with. But for the moment Todd seemed content to let Sasha coax his wife down to earth.
“Sometimes kids just need to be loved for who they are, not who we want them to be.” Sasha had been on the brink of this declaration for months. At the risk of insulting Rose, she should have said it long ago. Part of her job was managing
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