If the jeans fit…

A New York mother has been making news recently for her clothing line aimed at youth with autism, and other disabilities that can turn getting dressed into an exhausting, time-consuming affair.

For years, Lauren Thierry’s autistic son pulled his shirts on backwards or struggled to zip up his jeans.  So Thierry came up with a solution.

Her “Independence Day Clothing” collection has no zippers, buttons, or tags, and both tops and bottoms are completely reversible.  Apparently they’re a cinch to put on, with no scratchy lace or fancy piping to exacerbate sensory integration issues. Garments can even be equipped with GPS trackers for kids prone to wandering.  And, says the woman behind the line, the clothes are hip to boot, featuring styles any young person would willingly choose to wear.

For parents grappling with autism’s incessant demands, the idea seems to have taken off.

Now why didn’t I think of that?  I’m schooled in the challenges of raising a child with autism, after all, the getting-dressed-ordeal just one of a slew we faced every day.

Like Thierry’s, my son needed continual prompting with everyday tasks that typical kids eventually master on their own: bathing, grooming, eating, and putting clothes on in the morning.

A former news anchor for CNN, Thierry recognized that the simple act of getting autistic children dressed can be like navigating a “grueling obstacle course.”  Independence Day’s “utility design” is the first of its kind, she says, the equivalent to mainstream clothing outlets like Gap, Abercrombie or J.Crew, but designed specifically to help the disabled population fit in.

If only I’d hatched this clever plan!  Then I’d be the genius-mom brightening news snippets, recounting the evolution of my brainstorm.  My smiling face would be popping up all over Facebook as the disabilities community heralded my brilliant, sanity-saving concept.  I’d be the proprietor of a sleek, well-designed website already sold out of nearly half its wares, gobbled up by parents grateful for tangible help at last.

I could have been a clothing contender.

Oh, who am I kidding?

When my son was young I was lucky to get myself dressed for work before the day exploded, much less devise innovative clothing options for the disabled in my spare time.  My creative energies were spent pondering Daniel’s preference for animal flashcards over those with more practical applications, or why he could blow bubbles with uncanny dexterity but fail to pull his shoelaces tight enough to keep his sneakers on.

Consultations with behaviorists to analyze my son’s random biting attacks edged out meetings with clothing designers or marketing pros.  Putting my house back together at day’s end trumped putting the finishing touches on reversible rugby shirts, hands down.

The truth is, I just didn’t have the energy to be an autism mom and a groundbreaking entrepreneur, too.  My sensory-friendly hat is well and truly off to Ms. Thierry, who seems, somehow, to have successfully done both.

As it happened, getting dressed wasn’t one of Daniel’s main challenges, anyway.  After selecting his day’s ensemble, I could be reasonably sure he’d emerge downstairs wearing it, with just a sock adjustment or button alignment necessary before his bus arrived in the driveway.

In retrospect, what I really needed was a magic laundry fairy to ensure that the clothes I’d washed and folded were placed in their appropriate drawers.

If that innovation had been available when my son was twelve, Daniel may not have gone to school one day wearing a pair of my jeans.

Jeans he’d pulled on, zipped up, and buttoned by himself, just fine.