Game of Life

I left the house all by myself today. 

I can hear what you're thinking and... YES!  That statement does deserve balloons and confetti.  But I don't know the emoticon for that.

Anyhoo.  I was at Staples and turned around to see my former boss's boss.  A warm, smart, funny woman with an effortlessly tasteful, classic style. I both worshiped and was utterly intimidated by her at my last job.

My immediate thought after recognizing her was "Damn, she even manages to make jeans on a Sunday afternoon look classy."

Even though it's been 9 years she recognized me, came right over to give me a big hug, and then we spent a few moments catching up.

As I was driving home, I - the sloppy, exhausted, work from home, yoga pants addicted, special needs mom - realized the unbelievable luck that the one time I bump into this woman I admire so much, that:

- I had just showered
- My hair and makeup were done
- I was wearing my favorite casual yet grown up yet fun outfit
- With cute boots
- I was shopping to upgrade my office equipment
- Because the business I quit her department to start is so successful
- And I weigh 50 pounds less than the last time she saw me

So for today? I am winning. 

Also? I don't think the Universe can send a more clear signal I should go buy a lottery ticket.

Another Kind of Awareness

It's April again.  In general, I don't really engage in the Autism Awareness Month thing beyond that random situation everyday life sent our way last year.

But this time around, I felt like I actually had something relevant to contribute to the awareness conversation. 

The stated purpose of this annual event is to "educate the public about Autism."  But that's not the kind of awareness I'm here to talk about.  There are plenty of people doing that.

For this family, this year, we're working our way through another kind of awareness altogether.  The kind that is deep and personal and doesn't need a public campaign.  The kind that happens in its own time, and can never be relegated to a month on the calendar.

Self awareness.

Last spring, I gratefully took in the collective wisdom the spectrum community shared after I wrote this post asking for advice when it became clear it was time to tell Bear about this important aspect of himself.

Not surprisingly, the overwhelming advice was that it doesn't have to be - and probably shouldn't be - a big, stressful, sit-down conversation.  That it was better for everyone if the information was given in bite size, age appropriate pieces at moments when he was receptive.

He was obviously ready. He was starting to ask questions.  The kind of questions that were impossible to properly address without autism being part of the answer.

So over about six months, we had short little talks.  About things like how his special brain made some things harder for him, about how everybody is different in some way and how we would always be here to help him figure things out.

The only time he really caught me off guard was a day he was struggling with something and asked, "Mommy, what if I didn't have a special brain?"

Pillow pile is a favorite!

I swallowed the lump in my throat and told him that his special brain is what makes him who he is, and that he is perfect.

Not too long ago - right around his 5th birthday - Bear came to me and asked if I could help him put the bean bag on his platform swing, because "it helps my special brain feel calm."  He's been doing more of that lately - identifying what sensory input he needs and asking me to help him get it.

As I pushed his swing, something told me it was time.  He was calm and focused, telling me about the different ways he likes to play on his swing and how it makes him feel better.

I told him how proud I am of him for working so hard to learn how to feel better.  I asked him if he remembered when we talked about how having a special brain like his has a name.  He said yes.  I asked him if he wanted to know what the name was.  He said yes.

I took a deep breath and said "It's called Autism."

Bear asked "I have Autism?"  I said yes.

Then? My Bear shouted "I have AUTISM!! WOO HOOOO!! I'm AWESOME!!"  And ran off to play.

I know this was just the first step for him down the long, difficult path to self awareness.  Of eventually understanding, accepting and navigating the challenges this neurology presents.

But you know what? I think he's off to a fantastic start.

Another Guest at the Party

The people who live in my head are an eclectic bunch. Some days it's like I made all the relatives who don't get along sit together at a dinner party for the fun of watching 'em duke it out.

There's the chick who cares deeply about getting healthy for herself and her kids.  She's closely related to recycling chick, organic co-op chick and composting chick.

And then there's the chick who woke up Sunday morning and begged her husband for Dunkin Donuts. Because it's always time for a Boston Creme.

She's closely related to the chick who used to eat fast food every day for lunch and considered McRib a celebratory season.  Like Christmas! And Girl Scout Cookies!

Tis the season!

*la la la la laaaa*

That's me pretending I don't hear you asking why I'm eating donuts and Girl Scout Cookies if I'm supposed to be cutting gluten from my "didn't I just figure out I'm gluten sensitive?" diet.

What can I say? The landlord still hasn't reviewed gluten free chick's apartment application.  She's still crashing on my couch and pointing out every time I have a big honkin' post-bread coughing, sneezing, runny nose, throat-closing allergy attack.

Anyway, after eating half my body weight in donuts I felt guilty, so I went all crazy and bought a juicer.

Pop Quiz:  Which part of the previous statement is patently absurd?

omnomnom

A) I binged on donuts
B) I felt guilty
C) I did something impulsive

Obviously, the answer is C.  I mean, donuts speak for themselves. And B? Raised Catholic.

In spite of the tomato guts still stuck on my ceiling from a misguided experiment with a borrowed juicer about 7 years ago, I've been giving the juicing thing serious thought for some time.

Like, years. Because in case you're new here... if I am certain of one thing, it is that anything worthy of consideration is worthy of analyzing to death.

After reading a good bit, seeing several food/health documentaries that discussed it, asking everyone I've ever met if they have a juicer and what they think about it... you know. Research!

5) Joe is my age

And really? Finally feeling like it was a step I was ready to take.  That's key when you're aristocracy in the kingdom of I Fear Change.

What really sold me, in "today's the day!" kind of way was this:

1) I'm at a place in my life where I happily fill the fridge with stuff like kale
2) I like kale? When did that happen?!
3) I already compost (Hello, last year's Lifestyle Change I Was Finally Ready To Make! *waves*)
4) I totally had a coupon

Also? Because the good folks at America's Test Kitchen are freakishly attuned to my buying habits, they once again published testing reviews for the exact appliance I was interested in at the exact moment I was shopping for it. And I have learned if you do what ATK tells you, good things will follow.

Truth is, I can't link to their article because it's not free content. (Yes, I pay my monthly tithing to the Kitchen Gods and Cook's Illustrated is my bible.)  But - spoiler alert! - I can totally tell you how the story ends.

I give you... the Breville Juice Fountain Plus JE98XL

oooooo, shiiiiiiny!!

Link is to the obvious online retailer, but if you want to save 30 bucks (what I did), get it at your local BBB and use one of the 20% off coupons that are probably in your mailbox right now. Or your recycling bin. Or your bird cage. 

Seriously. These people send a lot of coupons.

Of course, the Bear could. Not! WAIT!! To try the new machine! Because SHINY! And it has a switch that goes up and... get this... down!

Whole Living: Green Lemonade

Imagine his 5 year old boy joy when he discovered it takes roughly half a second for an entire apple to explode in a vibrant burst of juicy, appley fireworks!

Imagine my 40 year old mommy joy when he and his baby brother went crazy over fresh juice made from spinach, cucumber and apples!

Short version of my thoughts on the machine: It rocks. And yes, it's (relatively speaking) easy to clean. If you want more detail, immerse yourself in reviews with the convenient Amazon link noted above.  And it's just a coincidence I ended up with the same machine from the juicing movie - I didn't even watch that movie until after I bought it. 

My ultimate health fantasy is for the juicer to replace my coffee maker in my life and on my counter.  (Because counters must be as empty as possible at all times. Or the world will end.)

And just to be clear about the difference between juicing and doing a juice fast... no, I'm not there. Yet.  I think I'll get there, but not this week.  Maybe this summer, when the farmer's markets will make it fun and affordable.  For now, I'm content to replace breakfast and the occasional lunch with fresh vegetable juice.  It's only been a couple of days, but this already feels like what I needed to finally purge gluten from my morning routine.

For now, foodie chick is enjoying the new appliance rush enough that the rest of us got a contact high and we're ignoring the chick who's allergic to clutter screaming about the big thing taking up the space where there should be, um... space.

Even though I've come a long way from 275 lb infertile undiagnosed thyroid/adrenal/PCOS pre-diabetic almost daily migraine chick, she's still in there somewhere, reminding me how awful it was to not be able to get out of bed.  Scared if we don't keep taking steps forward like this, that we'll be in danger of sliding back to where we were.  But she's also an optimist, and is quite hopeful that adding this to triathlon and yoga and all the rest will finally do the trick to take off that pesky last 90 pounds.

This was a big step for me.  But I think I'm going to be really happy letting the chick no one wants to talk about juicing with join the party in my head.

Misguided Muse

Sometimes I'm tempted to let the crazy people who live in my head have a little more freedom to see where it would take my writing.  After all, some of the greatest works of art and literature came from troubled minds.

But common sense always prevails, as I have to acknowledge that such an experiment is less likely to land me on the NY Times Best Sellers List than on an episode of Hoarders shrieking "Don't touch the cats! They're in alphabetical order!"

Standing Up

Like so many since last Friday's event in Newtown, I've done a lot of crying.  I cried for the children. I cried for the teachers. And oh, how I cried for the parents.

Having a child in that age group made it too big for me to process, and initially I opted for an ostrich approach. 

Until the first "hey, did you hear..." from a fellow spectrum parent.  The first whispered rumor that the shooter had Asperger's. 

The whisper grew into a roar, and suddenly an entire community was painted as potential killers by a clueless, ratings-hungry media.

We applauded the voices of reason who challenged the blathering heads on the ridiculous notion that autism causes premeditated violence - but they were too few to stem the ignorant tide. 



Dr. Sanjay Gupta to Soledad O'Brien in a CNN interview: "Autism not a mental illness, it is a neurodevelopmental disorder." 

Nine days ago I was optimistic.  1 in 88 is a powerful number, and awareness is growing.  I could see a day that awareness grew into understanding.  I could see a day that my son would be able to hold his head high and choose to disclose his diagnosis without fear of repercussions.

And then a careless news machine - desperate to scoop the latest in a heartbreaking string of tragic shootings - threw responsible journalism out the window and told the world that autism was to blame.  Who cares that this man had documented mental health problems unrelated to his spectrum diagnosis?  That's complex and nuanced and takes time to verify.  It's not a sexy sound bite.

And I wasn't going to write about it, because this has been thoroughly covered by more eloquent writers than I.

Except that now my baby has a target on his back.

There's a man on Facebook offering - for every 50 Likes on his page - to track down an autistic child and "burn it."

There's another insisting autistic people be tracked down and submitted to what he claims is a cure in order to "save the children from psycho killers."  (For the record, Facebook's response was that labeling an entire population as potential murderers based on their disability is not hate speech.)

One parent had Child Protective Services knock on their door.  They had been called by the school their son attends with the idea that he might present a threat.

Think about that for a minute.  The school. Where this autistic child is supposed to be understood and educated based on that understanding. Called in the authorities because this week's flood of misinformation put it in their head that his diagnosis made him a threat to other students.

Lest you suggest I'm over-reacting, let me make this clear: I saw these examples in one hour on one website, and I wasn't even looking for it.  It doesn't take much to imagine the scale of the internet and extrapolate the scope of this ugly campaign. 

We are genuinely afraid for our children's safety.  We are forced to wonder how long it will be before one of these delusional monsters walks into the nearest school for autistic children with a loaded gun.

It's time to stand up for my son, and push back at the misinformed masses working so hard to paint him as a monster.  I am only one mom with one voice. But I found others like me, and we are working to be heard.

Last night, I saw something wonderful.  A beautiful message from a fellow parent.  I was inspired, as were many others.  We came together to share our own positive messages, and by the end of the night a new page was dedicated to them.  By the time it was 15 hours old, it had over 1000 fans.  A website is already in the works. (Update: It's live! AutismShines.com)

Less than a day in, our campaign of positivity is already getting negative feedback.  One parent called us "sick" and wanted us to take down the page because she was so hung up on her opposition to the phrasing she overlooked the message.  Another suggested we shouldn't be claiming that people with Autism are peaceful and joyful and loving because "some of the can be combative."

To which I say: what can your point possibly be?  You don't get to discount the truth about Autism because some individuals occasionally experience a negative aspect of the disorder.  If combativeness is a litmus test for legitimacy, then you'll have to dismantle the NFL. We accept their "combativeness" as the cost of doing business - even when that cost is murdered wives.  So why is it a problem when someone whose torturously overloaded sensory system accidentally injures a well-meaning caregiver while in the throes of a genuine neurological crisis? 

I encourage you to visit the Autism Shines page on Facebook. Look at the beautiful children who should not have to grow up fearing for their safety.  Look at the adults brave enough to overcome their fear and publicly acknowledge they are on the spectrum.

Look at them and understand they are people.  Just like you.  People who - just 9 days ago - were living their lives. Just like you.  People who need you to hear the truth so they don't have to walk around with a target on their backs.

The Great American Experience

This post isn't exactly late so much as it was withheld because I wanted to take time to digest the experience before I wrote about it. It's hard to believe two months have already flown by. Sorry it's long winded; this is as much about the autism and sensory experience as it is to document what was, for us, a major family milestone.   I promise more than half of it is just photos.

When summer was half over and I was wondering not just when to schedule Bear's first trip to Great America, but how to afford it, I got an email from the local special needs support group about Autism Awareness Day at Great America, sponsored by the Autism Society of Illinois.  The kicker?  Huge ticket discount. 

The bonus was that one of our nearest and dearest (hereafter: Dear Friend Ava/DFA) - whom Bear adores - could come along to be an extra pair of hands. An experienced spectrummy, Sensory Processing Disorder pair of hands. So, we went for it. 

I should mention I was nervous about going in July with a child so sensitive to heat.  Thankfully it was a manageable 85 that day, plus I bought a personal mister fan to help control his body temperature.  He freaks out if someone else sprays him with water; but, he is perfectly happy to spray himself.  Worth noting I've seen several products like this on the market; I bought this one because the fan blades are kid friendly soft foam.

The Autism Awareness Day flyer indicated there would be a quiet area with sensory activities set up for spectrum families that day.  At the time it sounded like this amazing selling point... afterwards I couldn't help feeling they'd thrown us a bone. A moldy, half-chewed bone, at that. 

I was optimistic when we arrived to a half-empty parking lot.  That optimism lasted about 10 minutes - as long as it took us to get from the car to the lines of people and wall of deafening sound at the gates.  I didn't remember that the park blasts music and sales spiels at the gates to advertain the masses in the endless wait to get through the metal detectors and bag search.

We didn't even make it to the lines before I saw Bear's face change from happy excitement to panic.  I grabbed his headphones and got them on him as he was saying he wanted to leave. Thankfully the headphones did the trick.

***

MISS: It was Autism freakin Awareness Day.  Third Annual Autism freakin Awareness Day.  Surely in the three years that the ASI collaborated with the park someone, at some point, could have mentioned that the deafening music and wall of people at the entrance was going to be a non-starter for spectrum families?  It doesn't matter how much they discount our tickets if our kids go into sensory overload at the front door.

 ***

We figured out that strollers can only go through certain (longer, slower) lines and split up in order to get Bear through as quickly as possible.  So, AGeekDad and DFA took Bear while I tried to keep The Dude calm (he cried for a good portion of the hour long wait).  I already regretted the whole idea.

After making it through the gate we had to stand in another line to get his Ride Accessibility Pass, but it was quick and easy.

***

HIT: Great America's attitude about requesting a RAP for my autistic child was "No Problem!"  Just to be safe I called ahead; I barely even finished saying "my autistic son can't cope with the crowded lines" when the very sweet woman said "Of course he can't!" and gave me clear instructions for how to obtain the pass.  She even made a point of making sure I understood he qualified for the pass any day, not just Autism Day.

We used it sparingly because we did not want to take advantage of the privilege; he did well with short waits sans crowds and I wanted to give him the opportunity to be successful with that.  With the exception of one ride where the clueless operator never paid attention to the accessibility entrance, the pass was a godsend for Bear.  He could not visit with Six Flags without it.  So grateful to the park that they practice what they preach on this one.

***

It had been nearly 2 hours since we parked the van and we hadn't even made it past the entrance. This is when I noticed a lonely sign for Autism Awareness Day near the gates. I started to realize that sun-faded placard was all the awareness we were likely to get.

Since I wasn't in the mood to wait in a half hour bathroom line to use a baby changer, I nursed and changed The Dude on a park bench while AGeekDad and DFA took Bear on the carousel.  I'd hoped to go on it as a family since there isn't much for an infant can do, but this was Bear's day and I had to unclench my compulsively planned hopes for the day and go with the flow.

Bear decided to take the train next. It was nice for all of us to sit down together.
 

We headed to the kiddie area, but realized it was nearly 1:00 and decided to have lunch before Bear dysregulated from hunger. He was understandably too excited to want to eat.

Passing Kidzopolis on the way to eat worked to our advantage, because we had the promise of the rides Bear had just seen to get him through lunch.

To an neurotypical parent this looks like a kid eating pizza.  But spectrum and sensory parents will recognize this moment for what it is: is a long fought, hard won victory I wasn't sure I would ever see. The whole Six Flags thing was practically worth this moment.  My Bear picked up a piece of pizza. And then he ate it.

Almost worth the price of admission.

We earned an Advanced Parenting Merit Badge with the Dude: High Chair Daddy

After lunch we hit the kiddie rides.  After a brief struggle in which DFA miraculously convinced him he could not strip naked to run through the sprinklers, he opted for the planes.

DFA is the best. sport. EVAH.

The Dude was being a remarkably good sport considering it was his naptime...  until he wasn't. (And the answer to the obvious question is no, after paying for Great America tickets we didn't have a spare hundred bucks for a Dudesitter.)

At this point Bear was short circuity and insisting on the apple ride. Once again DFA saved the day, taking Bear on the apples while I circled the area just outside Kidzopolis trying to get The Dude to sleep.  AGeekDad took off to locate the mythical Autism Awareness Day Quiet Area; we all agreed it was time to give it a shot.

***

Sidebar: I had this crazy idea that amusement park planners would take into consideration that people in the kiddie area are probably going to have infants.  Infants who did not want to be in strollers all day. Why on earth must every square inch of grass a baby might crawl on be behind a barrier?

***

MISS: I was feeling desperate and overwhelmed by the constant noise.  And I don't mean the mechanical ride noises and riders screaming - that's bad enough by itself.  I mean the loudspeakers blaring obnoxious music everywhere you turn.  I kept thinking I would be able to find a quiet spot under a tree to give my poor overloaded brain a break and baby a chance to sleep, but every spot that even hinted at being such a refuge was ruined by loudspeakers mounted in the trees or on lamp posts. Thankfully the Dude's exhaustion was stronger than the noise, but I was really struggling.  Last time I was at this park (over 10 years ago) I had to leave early because the sensory overload triggered a horrific migraine.  Starting to think I have to give up my love of roller coasters.

Regardless, I had to wonder why the Autism Awareness Day organizers had not also suggested that the constant auditory bombardment would be a problem.  It seems to me that turning down - or better, turning off - the loudspeakers for one day, and replacing some of the obnoxious advertisements with an explanation of the relevance to Autism Awareness Day might actually spread some awareness. 

***

We followed the signs to the picnic area being used for Autism Day. 

Turns out, it's a concrete pavilion wedged between the backs of some rides and the train tracks, with all the noise you'd expect in that situation.  They had a crawling tunnel and some other stuff set up on the concrete between some picnic tables.  Bear and an older boy (I'm guessing 12ish, definitely nonverbal) played in the tunnel together and blew bubbles while a very nice volunteer from ASI talked to me to make sure our family has the services Bear needs, offer us educational advocacy and sign us up for emails about local events.  They also made sure we had gotten an RAP, which I thought was great because not everyone would know about that.

That was it. I was underwhelmed. We left.

Bear had spotted the Scooby Doo Mystery Machine ride on the way to the quiet break and there was no convincing him otherwise.  This is the one ride we tried where the operator seemed oblivious to the accessibility entrance, but luckily the line was less than 10 minutes.

I wanted to go on at least one ride, so we decided to give Roaring Rapids a shot.  Bear had seen it from the train and said he'd like to try it.  DFA understandably can't stand walking around in wet clothes, so she volunteered to hang with The Dude while we took Bear.

***

HIT: This was the first real test of the RAP.  I piggy-backed him up the long exit ramp, presented the pass and we were whisked right in. No one batted an eye.

***

MISS: One reason I thought Bear could manage this ride is that it's relatively slow and we could talk him through it (e.g. "here comes a little bump! Wheee - wasn't that fun?!").  When he's well regulated he can cope pretty well with things as long as he gets a heads-up. 

What I didn't count on was the station partway through the ride that seemed to have someone in it timing big jets of water for optimum rider soakage.  I heard the noise but didn't have time to lean forward to take the hit for Bear.  His face told me everything and I went straight into damage control mode.  Between being snuggled up sharing the seat with his Daddy and my repeated suggestion that was fun/silly/felt good because it was so hot, he calmed down and enjoyed the rest of the ride (I, however, remained at DefCon 5). 

Park employees seem to be in pretty close communication; would it be so hard on Autism Freakin Awareness Day to communicate the raft number to the guy in the water jet booth so as not to soak the little autistic kid with a giant jet of cold water?  Maybe that's too much to ask, I don't know. Going on the ride was a calculated risk, and it was a lesson learned.

***

I was constantly doing a cost/benefits analysis on how good a ride might be versus how much farther the experience would push his dial towards the red zone. My own sensory issues aside - not to mention a cranky, hot, stroller-bound baby - I was on red alert for Bear's sake and did not really enjoy myself.  But DFA and AGeekDad kept reassuring me that they were having fun and - most importantly - Bear was. And that's all that mattered.

We stopped for a quick snack and I watched Bear while he had a grand time hanging out in his own world.  Still hard to decipher everything I was feeling.  There was a lot of being proud of him.  A little bit of wondering if the people who saw him dancing and spinning next to the pretzel stand understood they were getting a lesson in awareness. There was some sadness that he needs to disappear like this, coupled with gratefulness that I do get him here in my world a lot of the time.

This may be the first time he's ever said "Mommy, I'm tired."  I gave him a lift to the next ride.  

He started insisting that roller coasters are scary and that he didn't want to go on one.  DFA told him the Little Dipper is a ride for kids and he eagerly followed her aboard. Afterwards he said he loved it and she told him it was a roller coaster.  His carefully considered, utterly adorable response was "So, if I liked this ride, and this ride is a roller coaster, then I must like roller coasters!" 

Bear was allowed to choose one midway game, and he decided on Whack-a-Mole.  Probably because it was the first thing he saw after exiting the Little Dipper.  DFA won and gave him the stuffed animal, whom he promptly dubbed Henry.

Bear and his "Afa."  Seriously, could we be any luckier to have this amazing woman in our life?

***

 Sidebar: You can see it in this photo, so I should mention it now... his velcro shoe ID tag doesn't work well with his sandals and I couldn't imagine going to a theme park without him wearing ID.  You can see the black strap on his right ankle - I bought a cheap velcro watch band and slipped the shoelace ID tag onto it. It's not a perfect solution (the watch band was too big), but it worked well enough to convince me it's worth the money to order a proper ankle ID bracelet.  He said it itched at first, but he got used to it very quickly.

***

The Whizzer is another kid friendly coaster, and Bear jumped at the suggestion to ride it next.

The Dude nommed on Henry while we waited for Bear, DFA and AGeekDad to ride The Whizzer.

It was getting late but Bear had seen the pirate ride on the website and he had not forgotten about it.  I took him on  Buccaneer Bay; this time I managed to get soaked shielding him from the cold, annoying water drips that hit you as the boat exits the building. He was predictably fascinated with the hand crank water cannons.

At this point Bear was so done he usurped The Dude's stroller.  We decided to indulge in a treat DFA had told us about before heading home.

Funnel.  Cake. Sundae.

The Dude alternated between doing a happy dance at being free from the stroller and trying to steal the food.  He was perfectly happy to give up his stroller seat to his big brother and enjoy DFA snuggles for the walk back to the car.

Tired Bear is tired.

We headed for home nearly 8 hours after we arrived.  I couldn't believe Bear had lasted so long. I know it was because we had DFA to help and I don't think we'll ever try the park without her.

In general I was happy that Bear had a good time, but annoyed that Autism Awareness Day didn't have a darn thing to do with it.  I feel like enticing spectrum families to go on a crowded Saturday is a bad idea, unless the "awareness" goal is to make park attendees aware of what parents struggling with an overloaded child looks like. If they really want to do us a solid then give us a discount good for any time so we can choose a quiet, low traffic day.

My best friend is always telling me that I have to stop holding others to my high standards for project and event planning, because I will always be disappointed.  This is one of those times.  I know I should be grateful that there is any collaboration at all to make ticket prices more affordable for families guaranteed to be struggling with treatment costs.  But I can't help feeling like it wasn't very well thought through and certainly not well executed.

Even something as basic as a sensory survival guide for visiting the park would have been incredibly helpful.  Information like "all the restrooms have automatic toilets and hand driers" can, for many of us, make or break the day. 

If the goal of this event is to provide an opportunity for spectrum families to do something special with our kids, then they've got a long way to go.  If the goal of this event is to pay lip service to awareness and to get some publicity photos for their marketing portfolio, then they're doing just fine.

Bottom line?  If they're not going to change anything about the actual park experience to genuinely make it more accessible for autistic guests, then I'd rather pay a higher ticket price and take Bear on a cooler day when the park isn't so crowded.

The Great Apple Butter Sensory Experiment

Apple Butter Hand Pies

If you're curious how I came by the need to use up epic quantities of apple butter by fabricating hand pies, you can catch up with parts 1 and 2 of The Great Apple Butter Experiment.

If you just happen to have apple butter on hand and want to do something besides enjoying it on toast/pancakes/waffles/ham/pork chops/in pumpkin bread/with a spoon, read on...

Did somebody say sensory diet?

I stumbled across this application when searching for ideas on how to use up a few, um, dozen jars.  Preferably, I was looking for a kid friendly idea I could get Bear involved in.  I wasn't sure about this at first, but I figured if it's good enough for Martha, it's good enough for me. 

Recipe Sources
Though I openly worship at the shrine of Martha, I did not use her recipe on this particular project.  I already had the apple butter and I already had a preferred pie crust recipe.

Pie Crust versus Hand Pie Crust
When I decided to make apple butter hand pies I had recently fabricated nearly 200 mini pasties for a Halloween party (pumpkin pie, apple and a traditional vegetable beef. Yes, it was totally worth it.).

Tasty, tasty heavy work.

Thing is, I made them with a finicky delicate pain in the ass standard pie crust recipe, blissfully ignorant of what should have been this blindingly obvious fact: hand pies typically call for a sturdier, kneaded crust.

If you're confident working with typical pie crust then by all means, go for it.  I can personally attest that the tender, flaky results are worth the effort.

But if you are not either A) experienced with pie crust, or B) a certifiable foodie, then Imma recommend you check out Alton Brown's hand pie crust recipe. 


Step 1: Crust
Make a bunch of pie crust.  Hand pies are labor intensive, so I won't do less than a quadruple batch. I want plenty to freeze for later so I can experience the pleasure of eating one without hours of work.

I'm a big fan of the food processor for blitzing up pie crust.  My processor easily holds a double recipe, so I can have 4 to 6 crusts worth of dough (depending on how motivated I'm feeling that day) thrown together in under 15 minutes.

I recommend prepping all the dough rounds before you start filling.  I do this in batches, stacking the rounds between wax paper in the fridge.

Never again

The size of your round depends on how big you want your hand pies.  For mini (two or three bite) pies, you can use a big cookie cutter.  I was going for the "suck it, Hostess" size and found the lid to my smallest sauce pan worked perfectly.





Step 2: Filling and Shaping

Mixing egg wash for fine motor practice

Just follow the basic rules of filling hand pies and you'll be fine:

- use less filling than you think you need
- leave the edges clean so the pie will seal
- a little egg wash for glue
- gently press the air out as you fold over
- cut a steam hole

Why yes, this IS too much filling

I received these nifty hand pie presses as a gift, but they only work for one size.  It happens to be the perfect portion for an apple butter hand pie and it's easy for kids to use, so I went with it.

If you don't have one just do what I do the other 90% of the time I'm making variously sized hand pies - fold over and gently crimp with a fork.

Bake or freeze? Eat or save?

Line your pies up on a sheet pan.  Make a couple of steam holes either with a knife or scissors. Place pan in the freezer until the pies are rock hard.  I put them in a plastic food storage container, but a freezer bag will work as long as you don't bang it around too much (the edges will crack off).

Until you've had a lot of practice, you'll probably find the assembled pies start to get overly squishy waiting for the pan to fill.  When this happens I stash the pan in the freezer and simply move the newly assembled pies to it as I complete each one. And it probably goes without saying that I only bring a couple of dough rounds out of the fridge at a time.

Because the apple butter doesn't offer resistance like other fillings, it can be a pain to cut the steam holes without squishing the pie.  I like to let them firm up in the freezer just a bit before cutting the holes.  The trick, of course, is not forgetting to cut the steam holes before they freeze solid.

Step 3: Baking

So excited to eat it we forgot to take a picture first

Bake them off in a 400 degree oven. Times will depend on size and if you started from room temp, fridge temp or frozen.  Start checking on them around 20 minutes; if starting frozen will generally take around 30.  In this case the filling is already cooked, so it's all about browning the pastry.

I like to bake off about a half dozen and freeze the rest.  That way we don't eat ourselves silly and have hand pies at the drop of a hat for weeks.

I love to pop one on my small stoneware pan and stick it in the toaster oven.  Paired with some warm cider or hot chocolate, you have the perfect snack for kids getting off the bus on a cold day.  Or bake off several in the oven for the whole family to enjoy after a Saturday afternoon of sledding. 


Regarding Yield
I can't offer a reliable count on yield because it depends on how big you make your pies. I get roughly four 6" pies from each individual pie crust batch.  I used about 16 ounces of apple butter to make about 16 pies (which makes sense now that I think about it - 2 Tbsp is a reasonable filling quantity for a 6" pie).

If you are going to have the kids help build hand pies there's one last piece of advice I have to offer: make sure you've got more jars on hand than you think you need.  I used two jars to make the pies... and Bear simultaneously ate two jars.  Because all that sensory diet stuff works up an appetite.