I shared a three part post about modeling AAC at home on our public Facebook page last weekend, and thought it would be nice to have them as a collective post here too. Enjoy!

The pandemic has created some challenges for us with AAC speech therapy services. We've needed to switch therapists multiple times as professionals make the adjustments for personal and family life. Facing yet another change in December, Rich and I started talking about what we want speech therapy to give Nathaniel and our family.

We believe that providing Nathaniel with an environment rich in aided language input or modeling is vital to him learning language and how to use his device. So a concluding question was obvious: "What support or help do we need as communication partners to consistently use the device at home?"

We identified three different roles that Nathaniel's various SLPs have had in the past that have helped us with this.

We need a COACH.

We need someone who knows the big game called language and can tell us the what, how, and when of modeling AAC.

This was obvious when we were beginners and first learning about modeling or aided language input and the role it plays in AAC language acquisition. But it is still true six years into this adventure. The AAC world is overly focused on beginners. We are well past most suggestions we find online to model one or two words as we say a whole sentence aloud. We need to be modeling that whole sentence for Nathaniel now. We need to be adding more complexity in those sentences, but in incremental stages that follow anticipated language development. A coach will prevent us from being stuck repeatedly practicing skills that have actually been mastered.

In my personal exercise program, I've been doing pushups with my knees on the ground for a year. I could probably benefit from a coach getting down on the mat mid pushup and speaking truth aloud. "Time to get the knees off the ground, Kim!" It is the same with AAC modeling at home. We need information from a bigger than us perspective. We need insight on what we've accomplished. We need instruction on how, what, and when to move to the next challenge. We need a coach.

I was a high school football cheerleader. I loved every minute of it. A chant will still come to mind; I can perform the arm movements and foot steps.

And like every parent who applauds their children's successes and boosts moral during times of discouragement, I have spent recent decades cheering on Team Rankin.

Despite these experiences, I struggle to be my own cheerleader for AAC intervention at home.

But I need one. Because there are more moments in AAC family life that feel like loss yards, turnovers, and incomplete passes than touchdowns or victory huddles.

We've had some SLPs who were really good cheerleaders. They have kept me in the game by meeting our plunders with enthusiasm. Like the day we showed up at speech therapy, but forgot the device at home. "No worries. I've got this! Let's go!" she said as she whisked Nathaniel towards fun and a plan B that she was surely creating on the move. Like those football cheers from high school, her words live on in my head and come to mind when our tools aren't ideal for our needs. Her Let's-Work-Communication-Anyway spirit continues to encourage me.

Cheerleaders know the length of the game. I remember watching the time clock on Friday nights. Touchdowns in the first quarter were great, but we knew there was a lot of game to go. Our best AAC cheerleaders have equally understood our need for perseverance. They have celebrated our determination. Through words, smiles, understanding, and pats on the back they have clapped until their hands were red and burned and then clapped some more.

It is not only SLPs who are AAC cheerleaders. Grandparents. Nathaniel's siblings. My friends. Even this Hold My Words community plays a significant part in cheering us on. I appreciate you so deeply. Because everyone need cheerleaders.

Especially AAC parents who are often the ones encouraging teachers, and churches, and community groups, and grocery store clerks to see their nonverbal child and hear their child's voice through AAC. The cheerleaders need cheerleaders.

The third support I need to consistently provide AAC aided language input at home is an accountability partner.

Modeling isn’t something I add to my day. It isn’t like a vitamin that I take once in the morning and don’t think about for another twenty-four hours. Consistently using AAC at home is a lifestyle change. It is like waking up and discovering that every morning is January first with its inherent list of resolutions. Having the device near at all times, understanding the operation, learning about vocabulary, remembering the categorization system, practicing the motor plans, charging the unit, developing a low tech alternative… It is all needed all at once. The lack of success in one area can sabotage the whole effort. Getting it right today does not guarantee tomorrow is any less a January first.

But those aspects of AAC modeling are not the hardest part. Much more difficult is that consistent modeling at home means that I have accepted my child’s complex communication need.

I have accepted his disability to the point that I am willing to talk like he has to talk. That I am going to take on the frustration he feels of not having the right word. I am going to struggle to remember where the word I want is located. I am going to forget to clear the last thing I said. Or clear the message bar before I say all that I want to. I am going to feel inadequate, ridiculous, unsure, and bewildered. And I am going to wrestle with knowing that he likely feels those things too.

Modeling AAC at home is simultaneously a physical, mental, and emotional exercise. I have never been able make such a broad sweeping effort without accountability. Most people can’t. Noom. Peloton. 8Fit. MyFitnessPal. Streaks Workout. Stacked. An entire industry is in place for people to buy accountability to keep their January first resolutions. It is a lot to expect an AAC parent to make similar effort alone.

Developing an accountability relationship with my son’s SLP has required a unique dynamic. It has been a rare, but welcomed interaction. The path was prioritizing connection. Not the SLP’s connection to my son, but their connection to me. The accountability relationship started with a shared belief that my son’s success using an AAC device could only be achieved through my success as a communication partner. It blurred professional and personal. It was messy. It involved coffee, laughter, tears, and apologies. It was vulnerable, creative, solution focused, and fragile. My seasons of greatest consistency in supporting my son have been when space was built for this mutual responsibility. I flounder without it. I need accountability.