Our Story
About Us
Our mission is to guide and support families of children with an ASD diagnosis, and to foster the growth and independence of each child. At Skipping Stones, we are driven by more than just research. We are driven by passion. Our devoted team of RBTs, BCaBAs, and BCBAs are committed to providing a safe and fun place to empower clients and promote success.
Tyler’s Story
He was the wide eyed, curly haired chubby little baby I’d always dreamed of. He was my entire world. But, he didn’t roll over at three months, sit up at six months or walk at a year. Tyler didn’t reach any of the milestones when he should have. He had acid reflux and his bowel movements were excruciating. Soon all of our furniture was stained from endless baby bottles of prune juice. The doctors and specialists diagnosed him with low muscle tone.
When Tyler was about two and a half years-old our extended family was having dinner at The Spaghetti Factory. My toddler picked up his plate and read the words on it: “An Amazing Adventure“. Everyone at the table was shocked. “He’s a genius!” someone exclaimed. I was so proud. And I was scared.
His eyes seemed to move differently than other children’s eyes and by the age of four, he had developed a stutter. I again brought him to specialists. “Many children stutter when they are learning to speak. The stutter will go away”, they assured me. “There is nothing wrong.”
His constant flapping, aversion to loud sounds, limited diet and difficulties with potty training brought us back to the doctor. His pediatrician told me all was well and that all could be solved with Miralax.
Kindergarten brought lots of falls at recess, many visits to the school nurse, and the word, “autism” . His teacher whispered the word at his conference. “I am not a doctor and I am not supposed to even mention it,” she told me “but I think you should have Tyler screened for autism.”
Tyler’s pediatrician still didn’t see any indications. Soon, Tyler was a first grader, still not potty trained and unable to dress himself. He developed an obsession with the Beatles. He knew every Beatles fact. He could tell you the year every Beatles song was recorded and even the studio in which it was recorded. Tyler wasn’t like other first graders. He wasn’t invited to birthday parties and when the entire class had been invited to his, only two children attended. My heart ached for him.
Tyler’s second grade year we moved. I hoped that his new school would mean new friends. But the situation only worsened. Tyler developed severe anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. Tyler had a compulsion to repeatedly touch the ground. The kids at recess would mimic him. No one would include him in recess games. He sat on the friendship bench alone. At home he would hit himself and attempt to strangle himself. “God made a mistake when he made me. I wish I could die,” he cried. My heart ached.
In addition to Tyler’s many gross motor and fine motor challenges, my little genius, the little boy who taught himself to read at two, struggled with math. Private tutors and tutoring centers didn’t help. In desperation, I took Tyler to a neurological chiropractor. She recommended he hold a vibrating toothbrush in one hand while we worked on math problems. She suggested that his right and left brain didn’t work together. This suggestion led us to the office of a traditional neurologist.
An MRI was done on Tyler’s brain. No abnormalities appeared. The neurologist told me Tyler was simply a “quirky kid”. Her recommendation was to read a book titled Quirky Kids.
The bullying had intensified at school. It was a struggle each day to get Tyler to go. Every Monday morning Tyler would vomit. Tyler’s pain weighed heavily on my heart. The inability to get meaningful help or even a diagnosis weighed heavily on my shoulders. I felt alone and utterly overwhelmed. My marriage crumbled.
Alone, overwhelmed, uncertain and unable to get a referral from Tyler’s reluctant pediatrician, I was determined to get Tyler screened for autism. I was told it would be a six month wait for a screening. What a frustrating journey! So many doctor’s visits with no diagnosis, no solutions, no help. I just wanted an answer, an explanation for Tyler’s struggles.
The eventual diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder brought us both peace. Tyler was relieved to know he wasn’t “weird”. There were many other kids like him.
Armed with a diagnosis, empowered with a new sense of direction, I set forth to find applied behavioral therapy for Tyler. If the wait for a screening was long, the wait for treatment was even longer. Every clinic was full. Even the waiting lists were full! I spoke with parents who had been waiting over a year and were still without help. I was told my only hope was to wait for a new clinic to open. I had waited long enough! I became determined to open my own clinic. I took the registered behavioral technician course, devoured every article about autism I could find, joined online forums and got to know people in the autism community.
There is much involved in beginning such an important venture, and in the meantime another new clinic opened locally. Tyler was able to get services and I was able to observe and participate in ABA in action.
The goal of ABA therapy is to modify a child’s behavior by focusing first on the behaviors which are most disruptive to a child’s life. ABA, like motherhood, is a journey. As Tyler read on the plate at the Spaghetti Factory so long ago, it is an “amazing adventure”.
After just six months of ABA therapy, Tyler had made significant progress. Challenges we had struggled with for years, such as potty training were solved. Through guided play and positive reinforcement, Tyler learned new constructive replacement behaviors. And there was an amazing transformation in me as well.
Immediately after his ASD diagnosis, before beginning ABA, I had hoped to “fix” Tyler, to teach him to mask his autistic traits so that his ASD would be unnoticeable. When he was overcome with excitement, for example, I would gently urge him to stop flapping his arms. I desperately wanted Tyler to “fit in”. Yet, when a child was cruel to Tyler, I would remind him of my favorite Dr. Seuss quote, “those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter“. I needed to be reminded of that famous quote more than Tyler did.
Once Tyler’s overwhelming challenges were addressed through ABA therapy, I could accept and embrace his less challenging autistic behaviors. Many of Tyler’s personality traits which are attributable to autism are the characteristics I now cherish most. Though his flapping is an immediate indication that he may not be neurotypical, it is also a giveaway that he is genuinely happy. It is as though his joy and excitement is too great to be contained in his little body. His hyper focus on various interests throughout the years, has taught me more than I ever thought I would know about The Beatles, The Beach Boys and The Monkees. His personality that the neurologist described as “quirky” makes him unique. I am truly blessed to be his mother. I am lucky to get to see the world through his eyes, to experience his unique perspectives and to be on this amazing adventure with him.
After experiencing the life changing effects of ABA firsthand, my determination to open a behavioral learning center became a passion. I opened Skipping Stones to get Tyler, and children like Tyler, the fundamental help they need and deserve.