Confessions of Autism

I have a confession to make.

Today was the first time that I told our son he had autism.

He is 7, going on what feels like 18, but will be 8 this summer.

I can’t say it hasn’t come up before. 

And I must say that the reason I haven’t told him before is not because I am ashamed or afraid of the label.

Truth is… knowing about autism was a game changer for us… and in many ways, saved my life as a mother. 

Being told about the neurowiring was the life raft I needed when I didn’t even realize I had just found myself out at sea with no concept of where any land might be found, treading water…

And despite studying communication for nearly two decades, with many years on stage, learning scripts or speaking freely in front of large crowds… something about that conversation I just haven’t been able to have.

At least not with Jack.

I think I could have had it with Luca at any point, and he would have just taken the information for what it was, and kept on going. 

I’m sure some may be quick to assume that is because of Luca’s communication deficit, but that’s where you’d be strongly mistaken.

Our Luca understands so much more than this world gives him credit for. As he continues to find his words with great strides every day, never once have I ever doubted the information he is able to take in, process, understand, and store as needed. 

If I were to say to Luca, “Luca, my love, did you know you were autistic?” I’m sure his gorgeous wide eyes would look up curiously, awaiting an explanation. Almost like an index card with a word on the front, definition on the back, ready to black-and-white understand that words have meanings, they are what they are, and no emotion tied to the facts.

But for Jack… even as I type I tear up and feel my chest tighten… for Jack, my fear is that he’s going to feel every bit of what society has wrongly done to the label… that he will pick up on the “difference” associated with the word, but worst… the “less than”.

This label that set me free, not only as an adult, but as a child who grew up wondering what was wrong with her… doing everything I could to mask, perform, be what everyone else needed… when I learned about autism, and really got to know it- for all it’s incredible magic and beauty in the difference of it… I felt freedom and relief beyond words.

Because yes, there is power into being one’s true self, and authenticity in being who the world made you to be without restraint… but this world can be mean and cruel and judgemental. And for the way that Jack is wired, in such a similar way that I know myself to be, I just wasn’t ready to go there. 

And then, we found ourselves this morning, talking about how it was Autism Awareness week at school… and that he got to wear a crazy hat or crazy hair to celebrate how we are all wired differently… and as we brainstormed back in forth while we stood in the kitchen in our pjs… I blurted out… “J, do you know what autism is?”

Those moments… the ones you think you can practice poetically in your head where you’ll say just the right thing and it’ll be something that saves your child when he needs it most… this was supposed to be one of those moments…. And I have to confess, I may have tanked it…

His body got still and he replied “No?”, watching me for an answer.

I put down the lunches I was working on to face him, and got down to his level, took a deep breath and reached for the only thing I could to get myself out of the conversation… “It just means your brain is wired differently… like you think about things differently… the way you see the world is different from some of your friends.”

I watched him process, and start to nod as he understood. So I continued…

“Jack, did you know you have autism?”

As I said it, I immediately wished I could take it back. Not because I didn’t want him to know… but I felt like I threw myself on stage in front of 100 people without knowing my lines, and a showrunner MIA by the curtain to save me.

“I do?” He asked.

“You do,” I continued. “And so does Luca, and Alex, and Mommy. We all think differently. We like different things. We see situations differently.” He started to walk when he does when he needs space to think, and as I watched him begin to circle the island, he said, “so like, how I go to Speech, but my friends don’t?”

PHEW. I began to breathe again thinking- ah ha! My stagerunner! Saving the day!

“Yes, exactly. But it’s not just about knowing the words to say, right?” He stopped walking, so I continued… “You know how Ms. Jen has those awesome thought bubbles that are different colors that she holds up while you work?” He nodded. “Well, what does it mean when she holds up a green one?”

He answered with a smile, “She likes what I”m doing.”

I nodded assuringly, “Right, exactly… and what color does she hold up when she feels uncomfortable about your choice?” He thought for a minute and said, “Red or blue?” 

I went with it because for the life of me I couldn’t remember.

“Right, buddy. See, some friends don’t need Ms. Jen to hold up the thought bubbles because they just know… they already know how to read someone’s face or body language to know if who they are with likes what they are doing or not. Does that make sense?”

He nodded and was seemingly on board, and then he started walking around the island again.

“Ok, so we are wired differently like a plug in an outlet?” 

I kicked myself at not just being straight with him… everything is so black and white, but I hoped this one time the analogy could click.

“Yep, in our brain are all these neurowires that connect us to how we understand people, things we like, what makes us happy, and what makes us sad.”

He stopped walking.

“Oh….” he smiled, “like how I like Sonic?” 

BINGO.

“Yes, bud. But do you just like Sonic? Or do you like really really really like Sonic?”

“I really really really like Sonic. Like forever.” Right about here is where the ADHD kicks the conversation to a quick close as he looks at me directly and says “but Mom, what am I going to wear for a hat?”

I laughed and he went down to the basement to hunt for options while I went back to making lunches.

I have no idea what I sent him off to school today thinking.

I really can’t prepare him for what his classmates might say as they as their amazing teacher tries to navigate the conversation at an age appropriate level.

I couldn’t stop wondering what he will do, as I ran my miles on the tread this morning, when the teacher explains today that friends in class have autism…

He may stand up proudly and say “I have autism.” And repeat word for word what I told him today… in our kitchen… in our pajamas as I made him the same lunch I’ve made him every day since he started first grade… making his friends laugh as I’m sure he’ll finish whatever he says with a dance move and a bow. 

And who knows… maybe if he does, it’ll give his classmates another example of what autism can look like, one that isn’t just what society has shown it to be for decades, because it will give young minds examples of what a spectrum looks like and how different can be amazing and unique and teach us so much…

But maybe he’ll stay quiet and watch to see what his classmates think.. Before he feels comfortable to say anything… letting his peers in that moment dictate what he is going to think about himself.

Because there is that human instinct when we are scared that gives us the three choices we know so well with autism… fight… flight… or freeze.

My Jack… he isn’t a fighter… he’s like his mom… he’s a people pleaser… someone who finds worth in being needed and wanted and approved of. 

His go to, when he doesn't know what to do is to freeze. 

He can be brilliant, and funny, and charming, and just melt your heart with the most authentic notions of a dreamer…

But he can forget his worth when he isn’t performing… and his assumption when met with shame or disappointment is that he is unworthy.

It’s just part of his wiring.

So when he comes home today, I’ll make sure there is space for him to talk about it, and to reinforce the scripts he needs to hear of his worthiness in all of his amazing magic… using real situations he can ground himself in to remind himself in the moments he feels less than.

And hope to the heavens that class clown made everyone smile today, and learn through his story, with an open mind and open heart… because he is adored by his classmates… and if I’ve learned anything in this lifetime it’s that story sharing can be what changes hearts and minds and rewrite what it is we all know to be true.

As you talk to your kids this month about Autism, as it is the month of Autism Acceptance… I hope our journey and story help you in some way… 

I know it’s been a while since I’ve shared… as a few pieces I wrote made me second guess myself a bit… but where there have been so many who have reached out throughout the years, I know it’s important to keep sharing… 

So if you are reading and this helps in some way… know I see you. And here to return the favor anytime you need the confessional.

Thanks for being here. xo

10 Things We Wish You Knew When We Tell You Our Child Has Autism

There’s this look that people get when you tell them your child is on the spectrum.

This pity/sympathy look (depending on the authenticity of the heart of the human you are telling) that always shows up the second that label is attached to the ones you are responsible for.

In fairness… It's a look that my wife and I both felt when we were told our twins were on the spectrum.

It’s a look that I believe comes from a misunderstanding of what autism actually is, because despite the fact that it's held a significant definition in our world for the last four years, it’s not one that we had any experience with before we met it face-to-face, times two.

So in the hopes that the following may help you, dear reader, the next time you hear a certain label of diagnosis, here are the 10 things we wish you knew when we tell you that our child has autism…

1. Autism is not the worst thing in the world. Autism does not mean our child is dying. Please save the gravity of that look for those who are bearing tragic diagnosis’ and dealing with children who are facing far more severe labels like cancer, and leukemia. 

2. Autism is not just one thing… Autism is a spectrum - an incredibly large and unique and diverse spectrum that can mean a million different things for each and every child. No two children on the spectrum are exactly alike, just like no two humans out there are, so please avoid assumptions and classifications that you’ve typically jumped to beforehand.

3. Autism is not an epidemic. It did not just show up over the last two decades. Yes, maybe the research and resources made available because of that research have been more prominent over the last two decades, but it did not just show up. It’s been studied for more than 80 years, and the results of that research are merely starting to make a notable difference for those with the diagnosis. 

4. Autism is not because of how I, or my wife, have parented our children. In the 1950’s, when society got many things wrong, might I add, they had the audacity to propose the “refrigerator mother hypothesis” suggesting that autism is caused by mothers who weren't “emotionally warm.”  I promise you that our children have been loved, with the most “emotionally warm” hearts, not by just one - but TWO mothers, since before they were even conceived. 

5. Autism does not mean our children are not engaging, loving, or able to connect with others. Yes, autism has been defined as a group of developmental disabilities that can cause significant social, communication and behavioral challenges - but it does not mean that it always does, has, or will for every child on the spectrum. Many children on the spectrum are the sweetest, most loving, and engaging with those who they trust, feel safe with, and let into their world. While we are so often working with those on the spectrum on how to form relationships with those outside the spectrum, we should be spending equal amounts of time encouraging those not on the spectrum to work on forming relationships with children like ours. 

6. Autism does not mean a lack of or inability to have empathy. In fact, those on the spectrum experience extreme empathy. Our son can often feel crippled with empathy when he bears witness to someone he cares about being harmed in anyway, even if only emotionally. 

7. Autism does not mean that someone is incapable, has a low IQ and/or significant learning delays. Although for some there are learning delays, and lower IQs, many on the spectrum are actually brilliant. But on the flip side, Autism does not mean that someone has a special gift either. Yes, many on the spectrum, because they are differently wired, have a special skill or ability that makes them a savant in a certain area of interest, but this is not necessarily true for all on the spectrum.

8. Autism does not always appear in physical stims, or heightened aggression. Yes, although some children on the spectrum do indeed physically stim and display heightened aggression, where others can go through what we’ve discovered is more of an internal stimming where their emotions are what run rampant versus their physicalities, and then some don’t experience it at all. 

9. Autism can not be outgrown. Autism is not something that a child is diagnosed with as a child, that the outgrow like an allergy or a bad habit. As children are worked with at a young age, because of the incredible resources out there for those with the diagnosis, they develop the strategies to adapt as expected in social and educational settings. They are taught about their place on the spectrum, and worked closely with to help them build their awareness around where their strengths are they can rely on, and the areas in which they will need to apply extra energy throughout life so that those delays/deficits do not keep them from finding success.

10. Autism is rarely found in girls. Statistically, 1 in 68 school children are on the spectrum, but 4 out of every 5 of those are boys. It’s not that autism is rarely found in girls, it’s rarely diagnosed because it often goes undetected. For girls on the spectrum, it’s found to be an internal battle, versus the external one for the male counterparts. We are taught from a young age about the importance of “being a good girl” and “acting like a lady” along with so many other scripts that are fed to females in ways that males are not. If the awareness and education of what autism can look like internally, throughout the spectrum, was taught, but also supported and understood, perhaps girls would feel comfortable sharing how they were actually feeling, thinking, and coping from a young age, where their voice would be allowed and heard. If this social shift were to occur, I feel in heart that those numbers of 1 in 68 would not only shift, but the 4 out of 5 would as well.

I find it fascinating that we create our first impressions about someone within the first ten seconds of meeting them, but it can take weeks, months and even years of time to reshape how that initial feeling created so quickly. 

It is my hope that for those who don’t have experience with autism, sharing our story helps to shift the standard information opinions are fed with, versus some of the incorrect stereotypes that can provide such negative connotations. 

Because the thing is… we don’t know what we don’t know. None of us do.

I know we didn’t the first time around, and it took months with it staring us in the face day in and day out to see what we were missing. I’d give anything to get that time back.

So maybe, just maybe, this can help you feel more informed the next time you hear about someone with the diagnosis of autism. 

Because there is a lot of amazingness that can be missed if you’re stuck in an uninformed decision you made in 10 seconds, during the year it could take you to learn otherwise.

XO

Sink or Swim

Sink or swim?

I feel like when it comes to parenting, I’m constantly asking the question, will they sink, or swim?

Having worked to teach our twins to swim over the last two summers - yes, I said TWO summers, it’s left me reflecting on the concept of sink or swim- and how our parenting prepares them for life.

Raising differently wired children, one of the most comforting comments we’ve been told is that eventually, it will just connect. Maybe their wires aren’t there to begin with, the way a neurotypical child’s are, but the beautiful part about watching a child with autism piece their own wires together is how they study a situation, completely unaware they are in it, and work their way through it, to make it work for them.

Last year, we had asked a neighbor who taught swim lessons, to come by the pool, and work with us to get the twins off their floaties. Mrs. Pickle’s made it a game, which fascinated Jack immediately, as she threw all of his small little people plastic toys around the pool, encouraging he scoop them up the way you scoop ice cream, curling your fingers towards your palm, and rescue them to safety. This game intrigued Jack into participation, but simply did not impress Luca. We continued with Mrs. Pickle’s methods for the remainder of the summer, but were unable to get Jack out of the floaties, never mind Luca.

This summer, about half-way through, Luca became far more interested in sea animals, watching every video he could on them, and thrilled each time he watched a friend jump into the pool - particularly with the excitement in their eyes before they escaped under water. At first, he would jump into my arms in the pool, with his floaties on. And then one day, he asked that we just take them off. After about an hour of swimming, he had made the connection that had been missing last summer, and focused on the thrill of experiencing the underwater life.

But then, when Steph purchased new goggles, it was a game changer. Luca realized he could see under water, and then never wanted to come up for air. The first day he discovered he could swim under water and actually see the entirety of the pool, he began to hold his breath for 15 seconds, only coming up for a gasp in order to return to the water below. It took about a day or two of exploration before he decided he wanted to get from place to place, and worked on moving his body to get around the pool.

Just like that, we had a fearless swimmer, who was happiest under water like a scuba diver.

Jack watched his brother accomplish this quickly. He had taken his time learning the scooping method, and how to kick to go faster, but wasn’t quite ready to let go of his floaties. A week into Luca’s new freedom, Jack decided that he would like his floaties unbuckled, where he hung on to the vest of them like a noodle, staying by the steps of the shallow end. It took a few days to be comfortable with this new bravery, before he decided to stay on the steps without them. He also practiced with goggles to put his head under water, little by little, before he was comfortable enough to really swim. Just last weekend, he discovered that he enjoyed swimming underwater, and that if he stayed near the edges, he could pull himself up if he got tired. As he grew in confidence, he remembered to “scoop” the water like he had been shown, to help him swim further each time.

Two boys, born merely minutes apart, and completely different paths to the same out come.

Their little sister, neurotypical until we are told otherwise, has watched their aqua accomplishments, and has decided that she too, can explore the water equally. Although we accommodated by holding her in the water when we are swimming with them, she has not realized that she has yet to learn to swim.

Just yesterday, as she watched them joyfully splash, she walked down the steps of the pool. Both Steph and I said, “Alex stay there please” and “Stop” as we rose to our feet having not yet gotten into the pool, expecting to put her floaties on her. Her feet continued down the steps, and her head dipped under the water. Right behind her, I pulled her up, and looked at her blank expression of shock staring back at me. She wasn’t scared, as much as confused because as far as she could tell, she had done exactly as her brothers, but met a different result. One that ended with her fully clothed mother holding her waste deep in the pool.

In that moment, the concept of connecting wires on their own, vs having the wires set in the first place, really resonated for me. Alli learns by watching others. From the youngest age, she’s been able to naturally do things, without hesitation or question. Things that never connected for the boys, and some still have yet to. But in this moment, the boys flourished in learning how to do something at their own pace, in their own time, and with such pride and joy that she felt fully capable to do so too.

As parents, I feel like we’re constantly wondering - will they sink or swim? Do we give them floaties, or let them figure it out? Do we need to ask someone to help teach them, or can we do it ourselves? What’s the right balance? Throw them in before they are ready, or let them take their time?

Pretty sure the jury’s still out on that one for us. But I can say that in those moments that you get to watch a child flourish, it’s wildly beautiful, and completely satisfying as a parent. Alli may have learned that she wasn’t ready yet, but she believed that she was her brother’s equal, and we were a moment behind her to pull her to the surface, so that the lesson wasn’t a much scarier one. Maybe that’s the balance in it all. Teach them they can do anything, fearlessly and foolishly when necessary, and be there to scoop them to safety in the moments when needed to avoid detriment.

Here’s hoping balance finds you as you are helping your littles (or not so littles) to sink, or swim. Xo

Papa's Beach

“You can never cross the ocean until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

One of the silver linings this summer, after becoming a full-time stay-at-home parent, was extra time at my favorite place, and watching our boys learn to love it as much as I do.

Our family’s small cape cottage is located steps away from Onset Bay’s shore line. Only a few houses, and cobbled steps stand between the perfect porch to sit and watch the day go by, and a beach where hermit crabs and minnows could provide hours of entertainment for the dozens of Aprea cousins that filled my childhood summers.

Yes, for our boys, it was a little different this year… as the cousins and we did not adventure together, finding separate days to visit our quintessential happy place, respecting quarantine guidelines… but the memories created still felt the same.

Where we used to only be able to visit on a weekend, or an intentional vacation day over the last few years, this summer provided open-ended opportunity to call up Auntie Sammy and Papa and ask for a few hours together playing in the sand, and walking the pebbled shore at low tide.

This last visit, before the summer days come to an end, and school returns to session next week, was different than the many over the last few months, as our bay was covered in fog, and storms continued to roll through.

We explored the shells at high tide, walking the deserted beach with the boys.

Although our visits to the beach typically last only a couple of hours, and we spend more time in the car then we do with our toes in the sand, my heart is full as I sip my coffee and share this with you. Those hours of unexpected memories in my favorite place are irreplaceable in what they did for my soul this summer, because they reminded me of the magic of “Papa’s Beach”.

As the daughter of a sailor, if I’ve learned anything from the ocean over the years, the first line of the post rings true: “You can never cross the ocean until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

This last year’s adversity has served as a defining moment for our family, and for my parenting in particular. Autism’s shore line provided a stability in routine and depending on the boys’ teachers, administrators, and aids to guide us on how to navigate parenting autism. When that was removed, there were days that I felt like I was lost at sea, without a life boat, or even a life jacket, treading water in exhaustion and fear.

But once I stopped fighting the change that was drowning our need for relying on others to teach us on how to be there for our children, I found my courage to stop looking back at the shore line, realizing the muscle memory could kick-in long enough to start to cross the Parenting-Autism-Ocean of unknown again.

Returning to the beach gave me quiet time in the car, most days, where I could put in my airpods and listen to an audible book, or a spotify playlist that didn’t consist of “Who let the dogs out” or a Disney Playlist, and I could take in an ounce of self-care.

It gave me time with my sister and my father, and occasionally, my step-mom and brother. Although we all weren’t together with the dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles like we’d prefer, particularly after losing Nana, it still provided the comfort of just being around them, and continued opportunity for our children to know them.

Trips to the cape gave us an escape, the three musketeers that we were, with an unknown structure that had flexibility and lacked expectation. If it was a great day, and everyone was happy, we could stay as long as we liked. If it was a tough day where the twins weren’t having it, we could simply be proud of the attempt, pack back up in the car, and head home.

Returning to “Papa’s Beach” as the boys fondly call it, reminded me that even on the gloomiest of days, when you can’t see past 20 feet in front of you, all you need is time for the storm to pass, and the shoreline to appear again. Courage isn’t always just about being able to leap into the next adventure, but also to remember where you’ve been, and how far you’ve come.

Here’s hoping courage continues to find you, too. Xo

The Artist

If you’ve been following our journey on Instagram (@cyoungphoto) and Facebook, you may have noticed that we have recently moved on from Disney’s movie: Penguins in the Young household, and found our way to the safari of the Lion King.

In this shift from icy landscapes to dessert terrains, it’s turned into a bit more than just “for the love of the lines” in how Luca designs his animal scares.

Where lines of penguins used to find their way around the tables in the first floor of our home, the entire animal kingdom now comes out to play these days, and not just simply in lines, or glimpses of a movie scene… it’s pure art, in it’s most beautiful form.

If you get the privilege to watch our artist work, you will see how the music moves him… it sits in his soul until it bubbles to through his body, escaping his lips in song. At first, he worked to learn the opening of the movie, and the first lines of “Circle of Life”, words that I still have no idea how to pronounce. His fierce determined commitment to getting it right is endearing in itself, but when he matches the tone and diction perfectly, it melts your heart.

As he begins to rifle through his box of animal figurines, studying each one with such care and adoration, he begins to place them intentionally around our large living room. I’ll be in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher, or playing a game with Jack in the playroom, when we’ll hear:

“Oh, I just can’t wait... to be king...”

When he gets to this part of the song, the words are clearer, his voice is stronger, and his cheeks are carrying a prideful smile. Although so many of the lyrics have yet to be mastered, that one line he knows he has right.

With his little fingers, he takes the entire 90 minutes of the movie to create the scene in his reality, refusing to be interrupted, and intensely focused on fulfilling the picture in his head. It’s like he’s been given a blank canvas, new paints, and a large room without interruption, allowed to simply create as he sees fit. It’s breathtaking to watch.

This is our little artist, Luca. And we can’t wait to see what he continues to create as inspiration finds his soul.

In case your soul needs a little inspiration tonight, as these lyrics speak to our souls as we parent autism…

“From the day we arrive on the planet
And, blinking, step into the sun
There's more to be seen
Than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done

Some say, "Eat or be eaten."
Some say, "Live and let live."
But all are agreed
As they join the stampede
You should never take more than you give

In the circle of life
It's the wheel of fortune
It's the leap of faith
It's the band of hope
'Til we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the circle, the circle of life

Some of us fall by the wayside
And some of us soar to the stars
And some of us sail through our troubles
And some have to live with the scars” - The Circle of Life, Elton John

Parenting autism continues to feel like this great leap of faith… that we were given the chance to be what our children need… the humility to understand there is so much to learn… the kindness and patience to understand it is not supposed to be easy… the belief that they will continue to show us what inspires and fulfills their souls… and the refusal to let them feel anything less than they deserve…

We are on this path unwinding… but loving the fortune it brings…

Here’s hoping there’s inspiration that’s finding its way to you, like it is for our Luca… reminding you to create without worry of judgement… to sing loudly when you feel proudly… and to take the time during these strange months of COVID, to “never take more than you give…”

After all, it’s the circle of life.

Xo

Autism Won Today

Someone asked me what it meant when I said “Autism won today”, and I realized that it may be a common phrase heard, but not understood, and the explanation may be helpful if shared.

As I’ve explained many times, each child is unique, just as each human is unique, and because of this, each diagnosis, and the behavior to it is unique as well. For our household, the following are times in the last week that I’ve used the expression “Autism Won Today”:

• When Luca broke our TV screen protector, that we purchased to protect the new TV after he broke the last one.

• When Jack’s inability to have a calm body meant that he kicked his sister so hard in the face it left a heal of a bruise on her cheek for the week. Have fun explaining that one to daycare!

• But when autism really won this week, was when I sat in the car, after carrying a kicking and screaming Luca, who yelled “Help Me. Listen to me. I don’t like you”, clawing at my arms and pulling my hair, as we passed a security guard. I sat for a full 60 seconds, tears streaming down my face, wondering if he planned to follow me out of the store - but thought better not to because we looked to be above his pay grade for that kind of drama. He didn’t know that Luca was disappointed in their lack of sea animal figurines. 

I never say “Autism Won”, by itself, because like most care-givers parenting autism, we are in constant battle-mode- and even if it gets us for a moment, we are agile… we fight back… we learn… we adjust… we recollect ourselves and return to the fight stronger, wiser, and faster the next time.

Want to know how I won this week?

• When Luca was able to tell Jack, “You’re too loud Jack. Please stop.” In FULL sentences, and he turned and went into the room on his own, like I have been showing him for weeks.

• When Jack chose to “hulk smash” on the trampoline instead of pummeling Luca, working out his frustration on the bounce versus the brother.

• And when I wrote this blog post, while three kids sat at the table, eating their dinner, and my wife’s dinner was simmering on the stove. Yes, all three had iPads, and I’ll admit it because I’m all about the honesty here… but if you judge that last part- you can go sit on your smug mountain and watch from a distance because judgement is not welcome here. I’m kicking ass and taking names today. Period.

Here’s hoping you are in the lead today, or that even better, you’ve gotten past the need to keep score, because living in the moment of it has become enough. Keep fighting… if anything, just keep going. You’ve got this. And like Glennon Doyle says, “We can do hard things.” Because: we can. Xo

Literally, why not?

It’s been a while since I’ve found time to sit and share about our journey.

Our days have been full of swinging until we feel like we are flying… jumping until we “hulk smash”… and exploring every play ground Southern New Hampshire has to offer.

However, there are two lessons that autism has taught me over the last few weeks, that I keep trying to find the time to share.

These two lessons, come from Captain Jack, as he loves to be called these days.

The first, is one I was prepared for: how autism takes everything literally.

As Jack’s speech has become such an enjoyable conversation lately, I find that he and I have the most interesting talks. Now, mind you, we are working on quiet voices, like it’s our job, but in general, he’s just so much fun.

When the boys were first diagnosed, I read every book I could get my hands on, and in each one they explained that many on the spectrum had a hard time understanding euphemisms. This is true for Jack.

One morning, while we were racing to get everyone out the door, and Luca was loving hiding under his sensory sheet in bed, I yelled up the stairs, “Luca, you’re going to miss the bus!”

I meant that my vehicle with all three children needed to leave in 10 minutes.

Jack ran to me super excited and said: “We get to take the bus today!”

Yea. Didn’t see that one coming.

I had to take the 10 minutes we had left explaining what I meant, to a very sad boy who had been wanting the bus to come all summer. When we finally got every one strapped in the car, his teary-eyed face said to me weepy, “Mommy, next time just tell Luca ‘we’re going to be late’, so it doesn’t make me so sad.”

The other fun one that makes me laugh is that while Jack was asking for something (for what felt like the 1,000th time) in the kitchen, I said, “Jack, please give me a minute before I walk off a cliff!”

(Dramatic, I know, but our boy is so incessant, I promise, it was warranted.)

He looked at me, dumbfounded, and said, “are we going on a hike with Auntie today?”.

Completely missing the boat (there I go again!), I said “no Jack, we are not going on a hike with Auntie today.” To which he responded, “then why are you going to the cliff?”

Yep. That’s our kid.

Now, match this with his new favorite question happens to be, “Why not”, and you’d understand our new perspective on life in the Young household.

Typically, at this age, a child will respond “Why” to everything, as curiosity is the driving force behind the age of 5. Jack, however, asks “Why not?” instead. At first, this drove me crazy, as I consistently felt the need to correct him.

But then, I asked myself, maybe he has it right.

Maybe the better perspective truly is- “Why not?” instead of simply, “Why?”

As you go about your day today, I hope you catch all the euphemisms we use, and the moments in which we negatively think, “but why”, and replace them with saying what you mean, and the possibility of “why not”. I’ve found that this shift in approach in our days has give me a new look on life: one that is continuously grateful for all that autism is teaching us.

Until they tell me otherwise...

I was talking with another mama today about our kids (shocker, I know), about who we hope they’ll be one day… and I felt Glennon Doyle’s words in the back of my head as I shared the story of the pretty dresses hanging in Alli’s closet that she refuses to wear.

I shared that I had adorable dresses I had bought for our daughter, that made her cry and scream in refusal. My favorite was a light blue and white pinstriped sleeveless, purchased for her second birthday photoshoot. I had set up sunflowers and balloons, and knew if I could just get her to sit for less than 5 minutes, I could permanently freeze the time in place, and remember that moment for years to come. However, when I brought the dress down with coordinating outfits for her brothers (incase the stars aligned and they all decided to pose), she was beyond distraught that it was she who had to wear the dress.

I look back and ask myself- why did I not just give her the white polo and navy shorts like she asked?

What would it really have harmed?

I had this picture of capturing our precious girl “while she would still let me dress her” and got caught up in what I thought it needed to look like, instead of just letting our Alli be Alli- the truest form of what she wanted to be at age 2 in that moment in time.

“Until they tell me otherwise…” is the way Doyle phrased it, when sharing with her audience in her memoir, “Untamed”, that she is raising two daughters and a son.

Until they tell me otherwise…

What an AMAZING way to start the description of one’s children.

As they are little, and two of them still finding their words, there is still so much self-discovery for them, that I feel as if this journey has yet to be defined. For Alex, the fact that she has no interest in dresses is merely a piece of it, not a dictation of what’s ahead. She also loves all things creative like music and arts and crafts, and her favorite thing in this worlds is a pink and white giraffe security blanket that we own 4 of incase one gets ruined.

Growing up scared to live my truth, one of the most important lessons I hope we teach our children is that no one else can be you. Plain and simple. Whoever it is you wish to be will be fully supported by us. No exceptions or expectations otherwise.

Where some children know by the time they are out of diapers, I did not know what my truth was until college. Partly, in fairness, because I never allowed myself to really consider it. I knew I was different. I knew I was scared. I knew I was not happy. I knew I felt unsafe to be true to myself. I battled multiple eating disorders, and struggled with self-harm, because I felt so trapped inside a body which I did not feel safe that I didn’t know how to breath, let alone really be just me.

I share this because, as someone who has grown older, wiser, and able to own the shame in those darker days, I can tell you what it feels like as a child to just simply not know - having not felt safe enough to explore what the answers may be, let alone ask the question.

In a day and age where our society is more accepting, but yet, still discriminatory… where people hold no expectations outside authenticity, but others require you to fit in their uncomfortable box… where some can celebrate the rainbows and uniqueness of every human being, and others still see those colors to mean less… it’s crucial that we continue to change hearts and minds by sharing our story, and it must start with our children.

While on the playground today, I heard a child say to my son that he shouldn’t be wearing pink crocks, because they were for girls. He said, “I like them”, and turned and walked away from him. I could not have been more proud.

It’s ok to dream about the potential somebody’s your children will be one day… but it’s truly important to make them feel comfortable and safe enough to simply be them, whatever discoveries they make along the way.

Until they tell us otherwise, we are raising two boys and one girl; each unique and incredible in their own way, their outcomes still yet to be defined, but so wonderfully open for possibility.

XO

Mixed Emotions

You know how people are always saying… “it’s with mixed emotions”, and fully aware of what they mean when they say it?

Today I watched first hand what it feels like to have mixed emotions, and try to process it… through the eyes of a five-year-old.

It was the first day of summer school.

This morning I relived that chaos of a hustle trying to get three kids under the age of 5 out the door to be on time for two different drop offs.

Alex needed a lunch.

The boys were confused why they didn’t need a lunch (they are used to 6 hour days).

Jack couldn’t understand why Ms. Nicole couldn’t pick them up on the bus, and spoke with sincere advocacy that he was a big kid who didn’t need me to drop him off.

I couldn’t find Jack’s backpack, but because they only needed masks and a water bottle, it wasn’t a big deal to combine their belongings into one bag, which logically appeased Jack despite that Luca’s name was on said bag.

When I had to wake Luca up, Jack declared with glee “Luca, come down stairs, we get to go to school today!”

Luca did join us in the kitchen shortly after, with a confused smile on his face.

My wife helped get all three kids in the car, and we were 8 minutes earlier to depart than I had hoped/planned.

After we dropped Alli at school, I explained to the boys what would happen, so they could be prepared. I shared that we would pull up to school, right in front of the door, like the bus would have. When we arrived, they would have their foreheads checked to make sure they weren’t sick, and then their new teachers would help walk them into the building.

Jack was excited. Luca, not as excited, started to get weepy eyed. I assured him that Miss K. would be inside and he would be safe (as his amazing teacher was also our nanny during the last few months, so we had scored fortunate familiarity to make this transition easier). It was as we pulled up to school that the tears started flowing.

It caught me off guard because something was different about it. He was clearly happy to be at school, but something was upsetting him.

After the car was in park, I put my mask on, and made my way around to the back of the car to unbuckle their seat belts. Luca came out of his seat willingly, and even let the nurse take his temperature. He said “school” a number of times and you could see the joy and excitement in his eyes.

But then a teacher he has not met, in a mask, asked to escort him in side. He looked at me with those same excited eyes, and fearful tears escaped them. I reassured him Miss K. would be inside, but he stood frozen - the definition of mixed emotions. As he worked to process his choice- to stay with me where he felt safe, but miss out on what he missed so desperately - or to face the fear in the sincere want to return to the classroom, Miss K. appeared in the doorway.

That boy SPRINTED - with feet so fast it was as if the emotions evaporated in thin air- to the friend/teacher he trusted and needed so much. Tears continued to fall with each step he took, but you could see him choose the uncomfortable fear because he knew in that moment what he needed more than to be safe with his Mom.

Jack happily followed behind him, glowing smile from ear to ear.

I spent 60 minutes in the parking lot, listening to “Untamed” by Glennon Doyle, answering emails and getting work done at the same time.

When the hour was up, the boys exited the building, and Luca was still in his mixed emotions. This time, the tears that escaped his eyes were those of happy tears to have returned, but also sad to have to leave so soon.

It was so powerful. Miss K. reassured me he had been present, and working hard in the classroom without tears. Jack couldn’t wait to share the worksheet he proudly carried in both hands, and was simply elated.

One of the things I’ve learned with autism, for all those Big Brother fans out there, is you always must “expect the unexpected”. Despite that the twins have the same diagnosis, almost everything about them is different: the way they act, the way they learn, the way they grow- you name it. It’s almost as if they live life unfiltered - without care or comparison.

While they were in class, and I listened to Doyle’s audio book, she spoke about how at age 10 we learn how to categorize ourselves, and determine how it is we expect to act. I hope my boys learn to live life unfiltered with such muscle memory, that it becomes a strategy, and a tool they use to be true to who they are. Never finding a box to fit in… never learning the embarrassment of judgement from others. I hope that both because of and despite their diagnosis, they continue to live this life untamed, as Glennon titled her novel, as Luca had just as we arrived in that parking lot, feeling every emotion as strongly as when he was asked to leave it.

As we exited the parking lot, I too had mixed emotions.

I have been publicly advocating that our twins need to go back to school, to receive the medically diagnosed assistance deemed necessary by the doctors and administrators from the moment I learned school would not open. My grateful heart was thankful for the little summer school opened, providing an hour a day three times a week, but still felt that the 6 hours 4 times a week their IEP stated explained this wasn’t enough.

Today, however, after watching Luca work through his mourning of the school time he had lost, and his joy to be returning, my grateful heart is merely that. I am thankful for today, and for the time they will be in the classroom. I am hopeful that sharing our story will continue to open hearts and minds to understand why children like ours, both those with special needs and those who are gifted, are among a smaller population who need the classroom more than others. I will continue to advocate on their behalf, because I know in my heart they need it to erase the regressions we’ve witnessed over the last 6 months.

But today, with mixed emotions, my heart is smiling and grateful for these boys, and for their ability to be in school at all.

The Special When

When we found out we were pregnant, we started to imagine their futures. We started to think about what could be for them one day. 

When we picked out their names we looked to reflect a path we hoped would be possible- providing them strong, dependable, serious and relatable names.

When we pictured what their paths may look like, we thought about this close bond that they’d have as twins. They’d grow up always having each other… a partner in crime… a shoulder to lean on… someone who would always have their back. 

When we navigated those sleepless nights of newborn twins, juggling breastfeeding and pumping, diaper changes and tight swaddles, we told ourselves… this too shall pass.

When they rolled over for the first time, we thought, “A milestone! we hit a milestone!” and anticipated so many more milestones to come.

When we talked about their futures, we gushed over the endless potential sports they would play, the potential jobs they would have, whether or not they’d want to go to college or just jump into learning about the family business… We promised each other we’d support whatever dreams they might have… 

When the boys were diagnosed with autism at 18 months, we were in denial. We thought their speech was delayed because they were twins without older siblings and had never been in daycare. When doctors said they weren’t sure Luca would ever talk, we responded with determined disbelief that the experts had no idea what they were talking about. 

When the boys hit age two, and we started to really learn about what autism would mean for our family, we started to understand how severely unknown our road ahead was, and how all those assumptions of hopes and dreams we had for our boys shifted…

When the sleepless nights returned, on top of bringing another newborn in our house, we started to wonder if we’d ever sleep again.

But then, something clicked… 

When we learned about the magic of autism, we dropped the self-pity and the potential doom autism could mean for our children, and focused on the incredible road that had yet to be paved would look like.

When they started to make significant progress in school, finding words we weren’t sure we’d ever hear out of their mouths, we leaned in hard to asking for help, being open to whatever autism may bring and researched wherever we could to learn about how to be the parents they needed.

When Jack went to his first birthday party of a classmate, played with friends, and even sat down to sing before cake, we began to see glimpses of that life we thought may be ahead for our boys, both despite autism, but also because of it.

When COVID hit, and they took away the routine and resources the twins received from their school, we thought it might be temporary, but stayed open-minded to our ability to show up for them.

When the weeks passed, and the sleepless nights outnumbered the ones with sleep in them, our tired bodies began juggling the chaos and anxiety the pandemic left on our family. We began to have a hard time keeping perspective that the regression happening before our eyes with the twins wouldn’t be permanent. 

When I reached out to their academic team, and then the administration above them, as well as the Super Intendant begging to know what plan lay ahead this summer, when only the students who were in serious need like our twins would be in the school district, limiting exposure for the virus with plenty of resources to get our twins back on track, we found very little perspective left to focus on, as their optimistic promises to put a plan in place continued to fall flat.

When we learned, just last week, that the summer school their medical diagnosis, and assessments of their incredible academic team assigned them, would be limited to hourly increments daily, we started to feel defeated. 

When we look at the magic in their autism now, we see it being buried by their anxiety, need for routine, longing for their peers, and regression that has shown to potentially have permanent damage.

When we look ahead to their future, we worry that the lack of what we can provide for them right now, during however long this pandemic keeps them out of school, will seriously effect who they could be, the life they could live, and the choices they will have when the time comes - forget what sports they will play, if they will want to go to college, or what jobs they may want.

The special “when” for children with special needs is being ignored with the severity of everything going on in the country right now, and although it may fall low on the priority list for so many of the talented decision makers out there who could do something, it remains at the top of our priority list as their parents.

So I ask you, WHEN will the medical diagnosis that outlines what our children need be enough to get them back on track, so that their many special whens of the future can remain bright, full of hope and possibility.

When?

The Decisions We Make

Have you found that you find kindred spirits in the strangest places?

Just recently I took on a new endeavor to try to help bring some money in during such a strange time of this pandemic. In that I found the most amazing teammates, incredible women who are also trying to provide for their family and create opportunities for other women to do so as well. Introducing myself and sharing my story, I found a mom who I connected with right away, as her son too, has autism.

She was warm, and kind, and that kind of person that if she lived on your block, you would be asking for play dates every day just so you could become best friends. She has been so supportive of the way I share our families story, that I when she asked my advice on something, I knew she would be comfortable that it inspired the following post.

As parents, particularly while our children are little, we are faced to wonder what of our bigger decisions, and the domino effect of their results, our children may have an opinion on when they come of age to form them.

There have been decisions Steph and I have made as parents that we know our children may have opinions on, from the serious to the insignificant. Some serious decisions, like that we used an anonymous donor to form our family, or that we only chose to have three children despite that we had additional frozen embryos we could have continued trying to give them the next partridge family with (we are pretty musical after all), tend to keep us up at night. Smaller ones like that all their pictures until the age they can handle Going to a barber will showcase haircuts done by Momma Steph with her best skill, and one or two by myself that had a little more Jim Carey feel with those awful straight bangs, or that I let Alex have two Oreos instead of one when she asks because it makes her happy, or that we were dog people and never let them have a cat (or a lizard, snake, spider, etc because that is NOT happening) might be something they hold against us for whatever silly reason.

Truthfully, one of the hardest parts of sharing our story, isn’t just how scary it is to be vulnerable, but is actually the intentionally it takes to make the tone represent something the boys will be proud of one day. I know one day they hate that people know so much about them. My hope is that they understand the intention behind it is to help others like us know they aren’t alone, and to shed light on the magic behind the diagnosis, reminding people that no one is merely one thing or label. Any one little thing about us, is simply that: one thing. It’s one part that makes up so much of the unique beauty we bring to the world; ever growing and changing to be who we want and need to be.

In short, if one day my children question the decisions we made, I hope my heart is just proud to have raised children who can think for themselves, and can form, defend, and believe in their opinions with enough conviction and passion that they aren’t afraid to disagree with someone they love. Maybe they’ll teach me a thing or two one day, that shapes the person I will become because of them, as we know the decisions we make for them today, shape them to be the person they will inevitably be.

I believe if we lead with love, patience, humility and grace, making every decision with good intention, then we can simply let the pieces fall where they may, and everything will be alright in the end. Good humans raise good humans, it’s as simple, and takes as much work, as that. Xo

Next Mother’s Day

Next year, for Mother’s Day, my kids will sleep in, letting us sleep in, and when they finally get up, will play together nicely, working extra hard for calm hands and quiet voices because they know it’s their moms’ day. They will take baths after breakfast, and get dressed in whatever matching spring outfits I found at Jcrew weeks earlier, so that I can take their annual photo in the Apple Orchard where the blossoms that have just begun to bloom make the perfect setting of white gorgeousness.

Next year, for Mother’s Day, when we get back from taking photos, we will put tables out on the lawn, decorated with gorgeous colored clothes, and have flowers everywhere. The kids will have made cards and gifts, and will be on their very best behavior, playing in the yard while we set up for our guests.

Next year, for Mother’s Day, I want to host a big brunch outside in our back yard. I want my mom to drive up and feel spoiled for making the trip, because all her children and grand babies are there to be with her. And when she and my mother-in-law sit together, laughing and watching their grand babies shower them with love, they will get along like old friends, without any awkward conversations or family drama that holiday gatherings typically endure, because we will all just be grateful to be together.

Next year, for Mother’s Day, we will grill deliciously marinated meats, paired with roasted vegetables, and pasta salads. We will make fruity drinks, and have an array of desserts that inevitably the kids will want to eat before dinner, and because it’s a happy day of celebration- we will let them. We will eat too much, take a break, and then eat again, while still having more than enough tasty treats to send each of my siblings home with some for the next day.

Next year, for Mother’s Day, I will sit on my deck after an amazing meal, and watch those same siblings teach their niece and nephews how to play croquet, and bocce in the yard, making memories that will last the lifetime of my children until they are old enough, and fortunate enough, to have littles of their own to teach as well. 

Next year, for Mother’s Day, after the day is done, and the kids have been bathed and put to bed, I want to be able to give my wife a card that enclosed in it, tells her I have booked us a weekend away, where there are no children, and we can just be us for a night again.

This year, for Mother’s Day, it will feel like every other day lately, and that’s OK. We will laze in our pajamas during the morning, and only change into clothes (or a clean set of pajamas-don’t judge) when we are ready. As soon as Luca finally goes back to bed, since he has been up since 2am, I will too, and we will both rest our bodies for a couple of hours before officially starting the day.

This year, for Mother’s Day, we will get take-out from our favorite local breakfast place, and our pup, Piper, and I will enjoy the ten minutes of silence the car ride there takes us, while we wait for curbside pick-up, without anyone else in the car. It’s the only quiet we find since schools closed and the house no longer holds that solace for either of us.

This year, for Mother’s Day, my siblings and I will hop on a Zoom Call with my mother, to send her our love virtually, and safely, in this new normal, because she is of the at risk, who has done everything she possibly can to stay safe during this pandemic. As a breast cancer survivor, and someone who knows first hand what it means to fight for her life, she values every day since, and is taking every precaution to not have to fight again for a very long time.

This year, for Mother’s Day, the second virtual FaceTime call we will make will be to my father. First, to wish my step-mom a Happy Mother’s Day, but second, to see how he is doing on his the first one without his mom, who we lost to this pandemic less than a month ago.

This year, for Mother’s Day, as the day goes on, we will watch movies, and play indoors, because oddly enough, it snowed yesterday, and not conducive for yard games, or a photoshoot. We will most likely have to make up some of the school work we have missed this week, because sleepless nights with autism have made it hard to do much more than survive- working to keep all the kids happy, and safe from aggressive behaviors, let alone meet the homeschool requirements.

This year, for Mother’s Day, we will eat something from the crock pot or air fryer, or some sheet pan recipe, like we do on most days during quarantine when it’s not warm enough to grill. If we take a ride anywhere for take-out or drive-thru, we will make sure to bring happy Mother’s Day cards with the kids scribble drawings on them, to give to any mothers working on a day they should be home with their families, giving them with extra heartfelt thanks for everything they are doing to make sure our families can get what we need. Particularly because like many kids with autism, there are days our twins rely on nuggets and a happy meal to get any protein for full bellies. 

This year, for Mother’s Day, when my in-laws makes it over for dinner, I will have a glass of Chardonnay waiting for Granny, and two open arms for a hug, because as she is in our immediate circle, and someone we see every day helping with child care, she is someone we do not have to social distance from, and such an important lifeline I will be grateful to celebrate the important day with. We will makes sure to overly thank both her, and Pop-Pop, because without them during this pandemic, I am not sure we would be making it through with the grace and patience they make possible through their support.

This year, for Mother’s Day, when the kids are bathed and finally in bed, I will give my wife a hand-picked card, with as much love that I can write in it, telling her that whenever this is over, we will get time for us again. With the card will be boxes of her favorite movie candy, and an invitation for date night, where we rent a movie and put away our phones for the duration of it, pretending for two hours that no one needs us so we can just enjoy each other.

Mama, if you are like us, and preparing to spend this Mother’s Day in an unusual way, I hope my dreams of next year’s Mother’s Day help to inspire you to think of yours, in any of the moments when this years don’t feel like enough. Because there will be next year if we all do what we can to stay safe, continue to social distance, wash hands, and slow the curve.

And to all the incredible mamas who have to work this year, whether it be on the front lines in our hospitals and ERs, or as first-responders, and fire and police woman... to all the incredible mamas who are essential workers, and required to work in order to get that paycheck to feed their families, as delivery workers, mail service carriers, grocery store employees, pharmacy staff, gas station employees, and restaurant employees- thank you. THANK YOU from the bottom of our hearts for all that you do. Happy Mother’s Day to all the mamas out there- whether you birthed your children, or earned the title with every diaper change, life lesson taught, tear-stained cheek wiped, and open-armed hug- if you hold the title and meaning for someone today- may your day be filled with as much love as you have given to those who made you a mama. Until next year... XO

PS: I’d be remiss if I didn’t send a special Happy Mother’s Day to two additional women who shaped my life in ways that are instrumental to my ability to be a present, happy, and respectful mother. To Ma, up in heaven, who always gave me a home away from home, without question or expectation, I hope one day to have the house all my children’s friends want to be at every weekend. And to Anna, who continues to teach me about the mother I want to be, I’m so grateful to be able to ask the question: what would Anna do, and instinctually know the answer.

And to my love, my children’s Mama, and to the only reason I knew I could be a mom in the first place, because you promised to always be by my side… our parentship is the thing I will always be most proud of - despite that COVID19 is challenging it on a regular basis, forcing us to grow and be better every hour of every day for our children. Thank you for helping to leave a legacy where the best is still yet to come. Happy Mother’s Day. xo

Piper

Hi, I’m Piper.

Could someone tell me what’s going on?

My little humans haven’t left my house in weeks. It’s never quiet any more.

I was just getting use to having Mom home during the day, and the extra attention she’d give me when everyone else was gone. Now, I’m lucky if she gives me a snuggle when I climb into bed at night.

Momma still leaves the house every day, but when she’s home, I can tell she’s stressed. When she rubs my belly and scratches my neck, I can feel how tired her hands are from working all day. She hasn’t wanted to wrestle in a few weeks either.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been some perks…

Like the snacks the littlest human gives me regularly - she’s a good sharer. She and I like a lot of the same foods: chicken, peanut butter, and bacon. Now that she’s tall enough to get to the cheese drawer herself, she can be easily convinced we need another cheese stick,and that she only wants the first few bites.

Just the other day, one of my little humans, who doesn’t typically like me, and who pulls my tail for no reason, rubbed my back with his foot when I laid under the table. After dinner, I asked him if I could lay by him on the couch, and when he didn’t tell me “no” or to “stop”, I approached with caution, his eyes watching me the whole time. I gave him fair warning, eased in next to him, and felt his body get calm near me. He even put his hand gently on my coat.

While I laid with him, I could tell my little human wasn’t sure what was going on either. His energy was restless… and almost scared. I just laid there with him for a while until his breathing settled. He doesn’t talk much, so I wasn’t expecting him to tell me what was wrong, but it was nice to feel needed by him.

The other little human, the one who doesn’t stop talking, he knows my name now. He even tells his friends about me when he’s on the screen. Just yesterday he told me to say hi. Maybe soon he’ll want to play with me more than just making me the bear during that hunt game they play every day.

I love my humans… I really do… but…

Could someone remind them I’m out of Greenies? I saw Mom’s stock of my food in the basement with all the little humans food - but I don’t see any more greenies.

And maybe ask them to go back to school? I was just starting to enjoy how happy they were when they saw me from the bus window.

Thanks in advance… - Piper.

Our Little Luca...

Sometimes, being accepted and seen, for who we are, is exactly what we need to succeed.

This is Luca. He’ll turn 5 at the end of August, and is finishing his second full year at an amazing school in our town, where the strides he has made since he arrived take our breath away. Just yesterday, I met with his team of teachers that work with our boy for over five hours a day, five days a week, providing him the opportunity to strive as he has. (Yes, you’ve read that once before, when I described his twin, Jack, just days ago.)

As a twin, I know Luca entered this life in constant comparison to his brother Jack. When they both arrived at Moose Hill at age 3, they were given separate IEP (Individualized Education Plans), as each had separate needs. Uniquely designed goals and objectives to work to bring each child closer to a successful integration in the classroom when it came time.

Luca’s parent teacher conferences are structured differently than Jack’s, as Luca only just integrated part-time into the classroom. Jack had advanced to a partial integration last year, but fully integrated this year, which is why when I met with his team, we were able to do so in less than 20 minutes. For Luca, I set aside an hour plus, because I always know that I’ll get such wonderfully intentional attention.

My time at his school that morning started in observing behind the classroom door. Luca has trouble with transitions, particularly around when I arrive at school, because it typically means he’s sick, or has to leave for a doctor’s appointment. Although I’d be allowed to observe in the classroom, knowing he’s not quite ready yet, and not wanting to interrupt his learning, I take my place hidden in the hallway, where I can watch how he interacts with his peers.

That morning, Luca was the class helper, and was excited to invite his friends to line up. I observed how he played alongside so many friends, with a consistent noise and activity level that he seemed to work through with ease. Just last year, this would have sent him off the deep end. But there he was, working with his aid on stacking cups, identifying colors, and reading books with the sweetest smile across his face.

His INCREDIBLE teacher - yes, I know I reference the administration at the boys school with this word on the regular, and it’s not for a lack of a decent vocabulary, it’s merely that they simply are INCREDIBLE. They are angels, miracle workers, gifted human beings who’s kindness radiates throughout everything they do with our children. I am at continually amazed at how gifted these people are.

His incredible teacher shared with me all the progress he’s made, noting that he is interacting with such thoughtful connection to peers, needing to say hello to each that enters the classroom, and taking time to say goodbye to each before he leaves. (Yes, my papa is in heaven smiling down on this because his Italian grandkids were always taught you give love to everyone in the family both when you enter and exit a gathering, no matter how long it takes.)

She shared that Luca has improved dramatically with intentional eye contact, and although the scripting has been constant, his language has also come so far, and that he has begun to generalize behaviors for each and every aid that he works with - not just the ones he has already paired, bonded with, and prefer. This means that he participates in conversations, naming items when instructed, following directions for activities, and initiating requests of tacting/manding for any adult partner that he works with, even if they change sometimes on a weekly basis. For the last year and a half, Luca has steadily had a consistent aid each six months, and each relationship has been so incredibly special to him. Any time he had to transition to a new one, we’d see the ramifications and after math at home as he worked through the abandonment and the repairing. The fact the he was truly beginning to learn to trust and adjust with ease was such an amazing win!

When I ask how his aggression is displayed in the classroom, bracing myself for what I expect must come as her answer, she explains that because he has an aid at all times, they only see it during auditory overload- when certain friends have louder moments, and even then they will only see him attempt to “bop a friend on the head” - as most times they are able to redirect the behavior before it successfully connects to the target.

We discuss the differences in his behavior in the classroom, and at home, identifying that Luca definitely has auditory triggers that cause the aggression in one of the sweetest boys you could ever meet. She assures me it’s simply his frustration with not having the language he needs, and that the more we give it to him - he will learn to dial back the aggression as the communication starts to connect with diminishing the auditory overload.

We observe his behavior in the classroom for 20 minutes or so, and then go to meet with the rest of his team in the front office conference room. We celebrate how far he’s come, discussing the many achievements he’s tackled over the last year, and we strategize on how we can continue to work in parallel, both in the classroom and at home, to keep the progress steadily moving forward.

When it came time to talk about the future, we did so about both of the boys. Luca was clearly not ready to move ahead to the Kindergarten classroom. Despite that he had made progress, he simply wasn’t wear Jack was, or the rest of the peers in his age group. Being born in August, both the twins are still very young compared to peers, and since Steph and I had discussed in detail our hopes that they would stay back a year to give them the very best chance to succeed in the years ahead, I made the ask. I had plugged the hope during Jack’s parent teacher conference, but was now sitting with the chance to really solidify the reasoning behind the hope.

We don’t want to separate the boys, even though we think it’s wonderful that they are in different classrooms. Where Luca is externally displaying delays, we believe Jack is internally displaying them, and think they both could benefit from another year in this amazing program. I’m not sure what they’ll decide, but fortunately will know soon enough, as both the boys IEP meetings are this spring, where all members of the team for the boys, including their teachers, administrators, and us as their parents, will work to design what the next year of their plan looks like.

What a gift, to be given a team of individuals that wants nothing more than for your child(ren) to succeed. Truly, what a gift.

I know I noted that Jack will make friends anywhere, despite if our holding him back will require a different classroom with new friends. That is his magic.

For Luca, our little Luca, we’re still learning about so much of his magic, particularly the love that lights his heart about the things and friends he cares about. Right now, Luca loves all things to do with the sea, particularly sea animals. He can name EVERY animal that lives in the ocean, and even some in different foreign languages (thanks, YouTube). In the next year, I anticipate that Luca will find the words. He’ll find the words to replace the aggressive behavior that comes from not being able to say how you feel, when you are so lost in frustration you don’t know any other way out. In the next year, I think the sweetest little song that is in his heart will fill with the lyrics of not only his current favorites: Mulan’s Reflection, Elsa’s Show Yourself, and Tip’s Towards the Sun; but of songs we have yet to hear that will capture everything he feels in his own words. Music is where his heart soars in song, and one of the first ways he was ever able to communicate. We can only hope that he holds onto the love of song for years to come.

He'll Make Friends Anywhere...

This is Jack. He’ll turn 5 at the end of August, and is finishing his second full year at an amazing school in our town, where the strides he has made since he arrived take our breath away. Just yesterday, I met with his team of teachers that work with our boy for over five hours a day, five days a week, providing him the opportunity to strive as he has.

When he was first evaluated by the school, they estimated that he was approximately 12 months behind his peers, in all of the five areas of development, but particularly in speech and gross motor skills. Yesterday, while sitting in the smallest chair, at the smallest table, with five other adults, discussing his progress over the last year, I was humbled by our boy.

I listened as these incredible women (yes, he’s surrounded by INCREDIBLE women who are invested in his future and everything that it holds) rave about how he has interacted with peers for extended play; how he has mastered writing out his letters - particularly those in his name; how he no longer needs to rely on incentives to complete unwanted tasks; and how he is beginning to relay stories that relate to the questions that prompt them. My cheeks hurt from smiling as I listened to this progress. Don’t get me wrong, we knew much of it from observing his interactions and conversations at home, but to hear the pride in their voices as they shared where they saw him excelling was beyond touching.

At the beginning of the school year, Jack relied on stories he’d learned and mastered retelling, in order to be part of a conversation - particularly that of The Big Bad Wolf. Now, when asked about what he did this weekend, he shares in great descriptive detail, the many stories of our adventures. Although his lovely speech therapist was kind enough to not share everything he’s shared with is peers, reassuring me that they only believed about 50% of what students shared on any given day (PHEW), she did shay his conviction made her proud of how far he’s come.

The last time I sat with these women, they asked my thoughts on potty training. Despite that we had tried for nearly six months and failed miserably, I was game if they were! Yesterday, we all celebrated in that outside of overnight diaper’s and the occasional accident, Jack is nearly completely potty trained, something we were starting to question on if it would ever happen.

One of my favorite moments of the meeting, focused on his interactions with his twin brother on the playground, as their classes shared recess together. The teachers delighted in sharing how Jack and Luca look for each other each recess, and play so well together, almost as if they missed each other during their time apart. Ya’ll, as you look at these images- the scars on Jack’s face are inflicted by that same twin brother. They do any and everything they can to get at each other when at home. The fact that out in public they actually miss and look to each other, thrills us beyond belief!

Jack is excelling. He’s made up for 12 months of delays in just two years. He’s making friends, maintaining relationships, and known as an extroverted and happy child. Jack’s tackling speech challenges, and understanding that not all activities can be preferred ones. He looks forward to school each day, and no longer needs assistance in his start to each day routine, or in his preparation to exit. He’s learning how to greet unwanted activities pleasantly, and without fighting the transition.

Jack has autism. Jack’s autism is not displayed by the stereotypical traits one might associate with autism. Jack is learning what his autism means for his life, and more importantly, what tools and resources he needs to find success as he navigates life with autism. He’s making sense of difficult transitions, and that even though he feels big emotions, he can also be aware where feeling big feelings is appropriate, and where feeling them publicly is not.

Jack is still incredibly picky about what foods he likes, and there are weeks at a time where he limits what he is willing to eat to 10 foods or less - sour cream and cheddar chips being one of them (hence the orange remnants around his lips in these pictures). Jack still requires full attention when he’s anxious about something, and has a hard time understanding that someone else might need your attention at the same time too.

Jack lost a tooth, as seen here, at an indoor play place where he was laughing so hard enjoying about to go down a slide, and of course the net grabbed a perfectly good tooth clean out of his mouth, leaving the adjacent tooth that’s been dead since he chipped it over two years ago behind to adorn the now gaping hole beside it. Because of the stress that going to the doctors causes him, and other incredibly important appointments including two surgeries to have his adenoids removed and tubes placed in his ears have trumped a dentist visit, we have yet to take care of that dead tooth. For a while, I would photoshop it out of photos because I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t get him to a dentist. But this is part of the autism. This is part of understanding everything that autism can mean, because it’s as different and unique as every child’s life it touches.

Jack has autism. But as far as we’re concerned, he is a force to be reckoned with. He will be a game changer. A kind soul who helps others. A performer, because the kid can’t stop replaying “Lost in the Woods” from Frozen 2 as he works to memorize every line and every movement that Kristoff does during the song, part of his magic will be how he looks to entertain others away from their fears, their sorrow, and their worries, replacing it with joy. That is part of the gift of his autism. His magic is that he cares so deeply for others that he’ll do just about anything to make them feel better. “He’ll make friends anywhere”, his teachers shared. And he will. Both despite the autism, but also because of it.

Tomorrow, I’ll meet with Luca’s teachers, and can’t wait to share what we learn there as well… Stay tuned!

The Struggle Is Real.

Have you ever found yourself struggling as a parent? Where every time you feel like you finally have it figured out, whatever next age or stage hits and you are back to square one of the struggle? Feeling frustrated, defeated, and completely unsure if you can “do this”?

And then, to make matters worse, every time you ask a parent who is further along age/stage wise, when it is going to get easier, the hardest and most frustrating thing to hear was that it won’t. “Not easier just different” they answer- EVERY time.

Parenting twins with special needs has reiterated that phrase in our lives each time I have found myself questioning if I can “do this”, this weekend being one of those moments. 

The struggle is real. And each time in the heat of those peak struggle moments, where all reasoning is gone and I am left on a mountain of built-up of frustration, fear and anger, I convince myself I can’t. I get lost in resentment of thinking “if this doesn’t get easier, I will never be able to survive this.” Not the autism... not the parenting twins... not the having a third... not the what feels like working three full time jobs (1.) in the job force, 2.) as a mom, and 3.) as a spouse....) the combination of trying to do it all without directions or a rule book... each one of those has been something I could tackle at any given moment, but the combination of all of it on any given day feels like the struggle will defeat me. 

I found myself in a pretty pathetic pity party, crying uncontrollably in the weight of it all, after a typical instance occurred on just an average Saturday afternoon. I lost perspective. I lost patience. I lost my grip. I let my child down because in a moment he needed me, I couldn’t show up.

I then took space. Took a breath. Walked away. Accepted help. And found perspective again. 

Have you ever been in that moment of struggle? Where it feels simply impossible to tackle? If so, for the parent that’s in the struggle like I am, here’s what I’ve learned...

Each time it gets unbearable, it’s because soon you will have to be stronger, in a way you never realized. You are building muscle memory and agility to be able to stay calmer longer, find patience faster, and ...

This is your work out.

This is your more than you can handle.

This is when you are thrown the straw that breaks the horses back.

Because it’s not about if you quit. 

It’s not about if you give up.

It’s not about if the straw breaks you.

It’s about what you do in the after math.

You’re a parent. If you quit or gave up it was momentarily. Reality snapped you back to where you had to keep going.

Muscle memory kicked in of needing to respond to a child’s needs. The behavioral pattern of showing up takes over and you do... just like you have, over and over again... you show up. 

There is always a way...

Can you find it? Can you ask for help if you can’t do it alone? Can you be proud of yourself for being willing to try? 

Remember, when working for that ever important perspective, sometimes it’s merely a matter or can’t vs. won’t, or in this case, can vs. will.

In case this was merely the reminder you needed today, ya’ll... you CAN do this, and for your kids, you know you WILL. 

So pour a cup of coffee or matcha or espresso if you are in my boat, and go get the job done. Because this never-ending journey of parenting waits for no one, and has difficult and exhausting as the struggle can be, the moments uniquely amazing to your journey are yours, and yours alone, to savor and appreciate, only earned and created through the struggle you endured.

You’ve got this. Xo

What is an Autism Diagnosis?

What is an Autism Diagnosis?

According to WebMD, medically speaking it’s... “observing the behaviors of very young children and listening to the concerns of their parents.” It’s documentation by doctors stating that the child is “on the autism spectrum”, opening doors for care and support they wouldn’t get otherwise. 

For us, the autism diagnosis has been a gift. 

It’s been a lens with which to see our children with extra amounts of patience, kindness, acceptance and understanding. 

It’s been a gift to not judge our own parenting or let the judgment of others dictate how we parent our children.

It’s been a reason to relate to strangers outside our inner circle of friends, who are experiencing the same thing, or have in the past, looking to them for guidance and comfort, and providing the same in return.

It’s been an introduction to some of the most incredible educators/administrators/staff for whom we have the sincerest respect and gratitude.

It’s been an opportunity for us to ask more of those that matter to us, giving them the opportunity to show up in ways even they did not know where possible.

It’s been a chance to forgive our guilt. For the first two years of their lives we felt like we did everything wrong, particularly around not seeing the signs of diagnosis, chalking up the lack of language to be a “twin thing” or typical of the male gender’s learning delays.

It’s been a lesson in communication, teaching us every day that as humans we communicate on so many levels other than through speech, showing us connection at the most cherished level with our children.

It’s been a journey to understand that we don’t know what we don’t know. We have no idea on how to parent autism, but their diagnosis has given us permission to tailor our parenting to exactly what they need, each child uniquely different. 

It’s been a reminder that life is not what we expect it to, but that we can in fact handle more than what we thought because of the village that is behind us. 

An autism diagnosis for your child can be anything and everything you need it to be. If you’re questioning, fighting, curious about getting your child tested, the key is to do so early on. A diagnosis only stays for three years, and if your child is diagnosed before three years old, the opportunities for complimentary support are endless. If your child reaches age three, it’s so much harder to get the early intervention help that could provide your child the tools and resources they need to strive in the classroom/society, but more importantly, the tools and resources you could use as a parent to be there for your child the way they need you to. 

Hey, Family!

When I met my wife, particularly when I first began to meet her friends in NH, I learned what the word “family” could really mean. In joking, she and her friends, would use the expression that someone was “family” if they identified a fellow member of the LGBTQ community. Now yes, the word could have so many inflections, that would be far more entertaining in a podcast - ones for if they thought they were attractive “family” or blatantly “family” - you catch the drift. But the concept was one so many of us our community related to, held on to, and tended to find comfort it. It was about recognizing your fellow brother/sister/human, who may or may not have lived through the struggles you did in owning your true self; who know what it feels to avoid glares of judgement or scrutiny; and who knows what it’s like to make daily decisions around how to live your life as “other”. Basically, it was almost like the “jeep wave” for the gay community - the head nod of acceptance - the instant awareness that you aren’t alone - better yet, you aren’t invisible, and I SEE YOU.

I took my kids to the playground this week, in desperate need to fight the challenges of February vacation where the lack of routine was driving them stir crazy, and their muscles desperately needed to move in the fresh air. It was 9am, so early enough, and much of the playground was still strewn with melting snow. Forty degrees and comfortable, we trekked through the snow to enjoy the swings, the climbing structures, and the many slides. Their cheeks beamed with happiness as they flew down the slides, and let their boots fly through the air as they swung back and forth. 

About twenty minutes into our fun, another family pulled into the parking lot. Two young boys, just slightly older than mine, raced to the playground, as desperate as the twins to soak in whatever sunlight would grace our presence that day. Jack’s eyes watched eagerly as they headed to the climbing structure the twins had ended up on. He looked to me for guidance, and I encouraged he introduced himself. Delighted to have the encouragement, he headed over to the boys and said, “Hi, I’m Jack Y.” - yes, stating only the first letter of his last name, as there is another Jack in the classroom and clearly this is how he is known with his peers. The boys looked at him, but when back to playing together. He tried again, and began to keep pace with them as they climbed to adventure down the slide. 

I was helping Luca climb to one of the higher more adult slides. I wasn’t able to get to Jack right away, because the ladder was slippery from the snow covered boots, and I needed to ensure he safely made it to the top. Jack left impatiently my side, and walked over to the bench, sulking sadly. I took a minute while Luca went down the higher slide, to let him know I would be with him as soon as Luca was down with this one activity, but that I needed to keep him safe because it was slippery. He nodded, understanding, and then looked to his left where the other boys mother had come closer with their younger sister. I smiled, waved, and she said hello. I went back to help Luca one final time, and then all four of our boys headed back toward the swings. 

We got to talking, and she shared that her son was on the spectrum. In return, I shared both my boys were, and she kindly admitted that she had heard how I talked to Jack about needing to be there for Luca in a way that she recognized. Apparently, my behavior felt familiar to her as well.

Her openness in that moment was a “Hey, Family”, and such a comforting one. I had forgotten what it had felt like to be recognized like that by a stranger. We talked for a while as the kids swung on the swings, even exchanging contact information to invite each other to group outings where many mamas of children on the spectrum get together to support each other. Soon, my boys were done, and it was time for us to go. I thanked her for her conversation, and said I’d be in touch soon. 

After I had gotten the twins into the car, and into their car seats, I sat for a moment in the driver’s seat, waiting for the DVD player to load, and just enjoyed that feeling. Since parenting autism, in the months after diagnosis and behavioral patterns have heightened to where my sole focus tends to be on my littles who never stop moving, I feel like there have been times I’ve forgotten to look up for adult human connection. When I’m at a playground with my kids, I’m more worried about what noises may trigger Luca, or if he’ll be patient enough to wait for another child to make their way down a slide, before plowing in front of them, unwilling to wait his turn- or worst, if he uses physical force to make what he wants possible, possible. I had coached Jack that morning to say hello to the new friends at the playground, and although I had looked up to be polite to the other mother- had she not approached me, I’m not sure I would have looked for that connection. Such an important reminder for myself, because those few moments connecting with another parent who wasn’t judging my children, or my parenting, gave me such comfort that I was not alone. That she too, had been wrestling children all morning, and knew the need to risk any snow potential injuries just to get growing boys outside to use their muscles.

Any chance we have to be seen, and to see others, without judgement, and in appreciation for our true selves, is a connection that should not be missed. Hopefully next time, I might be able to provide that to someone else in need… just a little “Hey, Family. I see you. We’re your people. You’re safe here.”

To the following groups in which I feel like I belong, in case you need to feel seen after reading this:

To the parents of little human beings who are trying to work full time: Hey, Family!

To the parents raising magical children with special needs: Hey, Family!

To the women who love the bodies that gave them their babies, but would love to find their body before babies again: Hey, Family!

To the spouses of entrepreneurs who are kicking ass and taking name with their careers, and in support of their achieving their dreams, you are picking up some of the slack at home: Hey, Family!

To the spouses who are trying to make sure their marriage is still a priority while raising a family, and after doing 10 loads of laundry, dishes, cooking, cleaning, etc (the list goes on) still work to make sure their spouse feels like the most important part of their day: Hey, Family!

To the dreamers out there who are constantly working to achieve those dreams, and willing to do whatever it takes to make them happen (for me, become a published author): Hey, Family!

To the members of the LGBTQ community, at whatever stage of happiness this life finds you: Hey, Family!

To the LGBTQ parents who are raising their families in a day and age where although accepted, the constant need to teach and educate those around you can feel like an additional job all in itself: Hey, Family!

To the LGBTQ youth, still trying to figure out your truth, own it, and be safe in owning it: Hey, Family!
*WE SEE YOU, WE ARE HERE FOR YOU, and I PROMISE YOU- IT DOES GET BETTER.

Feel free to shout out your “family” in the comments, or in social media in a share. We all deserve to feel supported, safe, and a part of bigger. XO

5 Things You Can Do To Support Your Friends Who Are Parenting Autism

Someone asked me recently, how to be there for us, or in general, for those parenting autism. After thinking on it, here are 5 things I came up with, that I thought others may find helpful to know.

1.) Just Ask.

If you are parenting neurotypical children, and trying to support a parent of a child(ren) on the spectrum, and simply don’t know, it’s ok to ask. Lead with love and curiosity, and ask to learn what you don’t know. Every child is unique, despite if they are on the spectrum or not, so parenting each child is unique in it’s approach, maintenance, and execution. Every friendship is unique, and I know when friends have asked me about the diagnosis, just sharing the stories of our day-to-day, help them to show up and support our family in ways they wouldn’t know how to otherwise. If you are asking from a place of love and wishing to truly support your friend, chances are they’ll be relieved to be able to be honest with you, and grateful you are willing to meet them where they are comfortable.

2.) Send Caffeine.

Ya’ll, your friend parenting autism is not sleeping. And not in the way that they could possibly survive without caffeine. Whether they drink a pot of coffee black a day, or straight shoot with shots of espresso like I do these days, or maybe they are mad for Matcha- whatever it is, they most likely don’t have hours in the day to take a nap and catch up on the Z’s they lose in the middle of the night. If you’re thinking of your friend, and you want to send something that could help, I promise, for any parent I’ve spoken with who is up with kiddos all night, a free coffee is pretty darn magical. Us east coasters run on Dunkin’, but Starbucks, Peets, whatever your flavor, it can seriously go a long way. Not only does it say, “I’m thinking of you” but it says “I see you, you’ve got this, keep going.” Well, at least that’s what I’m convinced my four cappuccinos tell me every morning… a shot of magic energy in every shot of espresso.

3.) Bring Wine.

Most likely, your friend hasn’t made it out for ladies night in a while. It’s not as easy as you think to get a babysitter, and, from my experience, my guess is staying home for bedtime routines is a requirement. Truth be told, by the time the kiddos are asleep, the parent probably shortly follows to their own bedroom, not knowing how much sleep she is going to get that night. But stopping by with a bottle of wine, leaving all judgement of whatever you are walking into at the door (as most likely you are about to witness a witching hour right before bedtime for the kiddos), and smiles ready to help in anyway needed with clinking glasses as the reward at the end of it- can be the ultimate way for a mom who never gets out, to feel a little less like just a mom, and more like someone who still finds time to spend with her friends- even if the friend is the one bringing the time to her. Having a conversation with another adult about something other than stimming, or triggers, or behavior, with unexpected laughter, while dressed in sweatpants and bra optional (you know you were thinking it), can make a really exhausted care giver feel more like that person you once knew before kids, and just enough of a pick-me up to make any hangover that accompanies the next morning worth it.

4.) Love our babies.

It can take a care giver or teacher months to get a child on the spectrum to pair with them- and that’s with training and understanding to put in the work. But, from what I have seen, for as much work as it takes, it’s pretty simple. Show up, and show up again and again until they know your face.  FaceTime instead of calling. Stop by after work, or for a play date on a Sunday morning. And don’t expect our babies to come to you, be ok with however long it takes for them to pair with you. It needs to fully be on their terms. You need to earn their trust, and their want to spend time with you. Celebrate it when they do. Because they will make you work for it, but it will be incredibly worth it.

And, if you bring kids into the mix with you, make sure you teach them how to show up too. Explain to them that just because our kids might not say “hello” back, or be comfortable running around with noisy chaotic fun, or like to give hugs and loves at the end of a visit, it doesn’t mean they aren’t grateful for the companionship, and that they don’t bring something truly special to the friendship. Encourage they be open to wherever the play date takes them, removing expectations from the mix, providing important opportunity for learning, grace, and simple joy.

5.) Sit with us in the dark.

Brene Brown, Empathy Researcher, says “Empathy is...simply listening, holding space, withholding judgment, emotionally connecting, and communicating that incredibly healing message of, ‘You’re not alone.’” Sometimes, all we need is someone to sit with us during the moments we question what we are doing, fully aware that we are navigating blind in a space without doors or windows. As I’ve said so many times before, Autism is magical, and has a truly beautiful lens that it places on your life as a parent if you let it, showing just how incredible your children are because it navigates, showcases, and highlights your child’s gifts right before your eyes. But parenting, in general, can be hard. And when the “rule book” doesn’t look like all the ones your friends, family, and published strangers look like, it can sometimes make you question every decision you make. I’ve heard Brene explain that to have empathy is to see a friend sitting in a dark room alone, and that your actions are not to rush in and turn a light on, or even walk by, say a quick hello, and leave, but to enter the space quietly, sit beside your friend, maybe even hold their hand, and just be. Just sit with us in the dark, for however long we need you to. Remember, we’re strong, committed parents, who put our children first. We won’t be sitting there long- there is laundry to switch, lunches to pack, pick-ups to arrange, therapy to get to, etc… but if we need a minute, let us know we aren’t alone in it.