Then, I read all night, every night. No longer mindlessly.
As I read—skimming first—I throw each arriving book to one side of the bed, or the other.
Good books–that seem sound science—to one side, the near side, for re-reading later.
Silly books, about your child just needs our colored lenses, about sitting on the floor together with your child, playing with his or her feces, if need be, all the quick, complete and apparent miracle cures—to the other, far side.
Waste of money, waste of any more of my time—of Ruffin’s time.
It is very clear there has been a lot of crap written about autism.