The Cool Mom.

Last weekend, my wife confirmed for our children, that she is, in fact, the cool mom.

How did she do that? You ask?

She brought home nerf guns.

Let’s back up.

About two years ago, we were Christmas shopping, and she wanted to get the boys nerf guns. My disgust clear across my face, I factually pointed out that all the packages state for 8 years old or older, and that ours weren’t even 1/2 that age, so it would not be in our best interest to gift them to twins whose excitement matched with aggression on a holiday morning would simply mean any fragile decorations I’d put at a height they could not reach, would most definitely find peril.

That shopping trip, I won.

Last weekend, when Jack let Steph cut his hair and trim his nails, earning him a trim to the oh-so-wonderful-Walmart, he pridefully came up the basement stairs yelling “Mommy! Look what Mama let me get!”

She followed behind him grinning, ear to ear, excited to introduce our kids to the amazing battlefield of rush that styrofoam pellets aimed at you at a speed to fast for 5-year-olds should be.

Jack rushed to his siblings, making sure they each got their gun and stash of ammunition, and all three kids followed Mama eagerly to learn what to do.

She walked them through it, and I simply sipped my coffee in the kitchen quietly, watching their eyes follow her ever movement, hanging on her every word in amazement.

The only one to get injured that day was me.

The only one to pick up the hundreds of darts shot, was me.

I am the Mom who cleans up the mess.

I am the Mom who is the target.

I am not the cool Mom, when she puts the darts up high above the kitchen cabinets because she’s tired of cleaning them up.

I am also the mom that at 5am the next morning, when Jack was desperate to play with them again, said, “Mama will be so excited to play with you when she wakes up, so let’s wait for her.”

I could have tried to be cool at 5am. I had been up for an hour, and had a cup of cappuccino- cool was technically possible.

But that’s the thing.

There can’t be two cool moms.

So all week, when they wanted to introduce their friends to this amazing new world Mama gave them, I left it for her. I let her look like the coolest Mama there was.

Because she is pretty cool.

At one point I asked her, after I’d cleaned up the darts for what felt like the 100th time, why on earth she thought this was so cool. (Again, I’m not the cool mom.)

Before I could lecture her on how scary it is to teach our children about guns she stopped me.

“If we had a gun in the house, I’d never get these for them.” she said.

She then pulled the ultimate excuse, that’s impossible to fight. “I never got to have this stuff as a kid. I just want to have fun with them.”

Ugh.

This is why she is the cool mom.

We will continue to have conversations with our children about guns, and ensure they know to never touch a real one… but for now… the cool mom is enjoying teaching them about aiming at a target, and how to breath and relax their bodies to really focus in on what’s in front of them. She is filling our house with laughter and play, and giving the kids memories that are happy and filled with joy.

I’m not really sure I’ll ever be the cool Mom.

I’m the worrier.

The keeper of all information.

The one who knows every teacher, aid, nurse, school administrator, doctor, and adult who works with our children on a regular basis.

The one who knows which twin wants veggie sticks in his lunch, and which one wants cheezeits.

I’m the mom who makes sure the medicine gets taken every night and every morning.

I’m the mom who gets up early every morning for the snuggles on the couch, and holds Jack’s hand while reading him a story as he falls asleep at night.

Not a lot of room left to be cool.

But that’s ok.

Because the cool thing in our family is… they have two moms, so we don’t both have to be cool. I mean, we wouldn’t want to spoil them or anything.

To all the non-cool parents out there: I see you. Kudos on letting your partner bring the fun to the party. I’m with you on clean-up duty… because to us, happy kids and a clean house is cool enough, isn’t it? 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

Rainbow Bow Baby

This is Alex Rolins.

She is our Rainbow Bow Baby.

To be a rainbow baby, means to be born after a miscarriage. As this week we celebrated National Rainbow Baby day, I thought this post was timely.

As I’ve shared before, after the 11 IUIS and one IVF it took to conceive the twins, my wife and I suffered one miscarriage through IVF.

I can remember, at the time, I thought that if I worked hard enough, and did everything right, we could continue to have it all.

I could continue to chase my growing career at an organization that I cared about, so much so, that I thought I could carry a pregnancy during one of our busiest weeks of the year, for one of our most important, and most stressful events.

I even thought I could travel across the country at only four weeks pregnant, on very little sleep as it was, to work 18 hour days, four days straight.

I remember what it felt like to recognize feeling pregnant. I didn’t have that with the twins, because I got so sick so quickly, that it felt more like a ton of bricks. There wasn’t any subtly about it. Almost like flirting. When you recognize the flutter, and you think- what if?

I remember looking at my face and seeing the glow… no, not the kind from the Rodan + Fields Hydration Serum ;P Although, that does make me glow, haha.

The different “glow”. The “it” factor. I had it. I was pregnant, and I was sure of it.

It was confirmed before I got on that plane. I even proudly told the stewardess I’d need to board the flight first, because I was pregnant, and needed optimal seating.

I knew I was pregnant when I raced through the airport, after working for the eight-hour flight, only to continue the hustle on my phone all the way to the hotel.

I knew as I met colleagues that continued to pour on to the West Coast, even though I kept it to myself, not wanting to share the news just yet, afraid they’d hold me back at working as hard as I knew I’d need to over the next few days.

The night of the event, as everything went off smoothly, and I ran into one of my favorite people in the lobby, and felt that I just needed to tell him. My smile beamed ear to ear as I whispered my secret, begging him to keep it.

I knew the morning after as I cried in the hotel restaurant to a friend, both out of exhaustion, but also out of disappointment that all the work and hours and sacrifice I had put in, hadn’t been enough the night before to hit our goal.

I just didn’t know how much I had sacrificed until a week later.

When we got pregnant with Alex, or Alli as we adoringly call her, I got to feel that glow again, and experience every first with a new, more appreciative set of eyes.

After you’ve lost something, you have this strong sense of purpose in appreciating it when love returns to fill the gap it left.

Alli isn’t only our Rainbow Baby… but she is our Bow Baby as well, meaning she’s completed our family, and tied a bow on all the work it took to get here.

She is our light. She is our joy. She is our HAM.

This girl’s boogie is better than most, as she insists on shaking what her mama’s gave her.

Her smile is infectious, and even at a young age - she is funny.

She has the kindest heart.

And she gives the BEST hugs. (Ask the girls at daycare - they fight over getting them when she arrives. And not her classmates- her teachers.)

Alli is our Rainbow Bow Baby. And we simply cannot imagine life without her.

Through COVID, she’s reminded me that the dream I thought I was chasing, wasn’t the one I was supposed to be part of. This… all of this incredible life my wife and I have put together is the dream I always had, always wanted, and always knew I deserved.

To all the Rainbow Babies out there… the souls we carry as long as you let us, that touch our hearts, softening them while strengthening them at the same time, you are always with us.

To all the parents of Rainbow Babies, my hope is that your lives were both enriched because of and despite of the rainbows that will always be yours.

And to the parents who are waiting for the beauty of the rainbow, remember that this life is the only one we have, and perspective between the storm and the sunlight that hits the dew to create those prisms is yours and yours alone. Everything that’s hard in this life is beautiful, and collateral beauty is only for those who are strong enough to accept it. You are not alone. I see you. Just wait for this storm to pass. 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

What do you need?

“What do you need?”

The question is banging at the door I’ve closed in my mind as I lock myself away in my mental closet of a pity party, sitting on the cold dark floor, letting the tears continue to fall.

“What do you need?” It demands from me.

Like my four-year-olds, I sit in the time-out crying, ashamed, and unable to find the words. 

“I don’t know!” I want to shout back. “Don’t you think if I knew, I’d know how to ask for it? Or better yet, get it for myself? I’m fully capable.”

As I breathe, I can feel the weight in my chest and I whisper… “I need this pandemic to be over.”

The lack of response confirms what I already know, that it’s not over, not even close, and it may get far worse before it gets better.

“What do you need?” The ask is softer this time, almost with more patience and understanding.

As the tears continue to fall, and I find a steadier breath, I try to think logically, of actual problems I’m trying to solve, not just the overwhelming feeling of weight… What are the little things that could help? 

The obvious come to mind: I need a break. I need sleep. I need to not answer to someone long enough to get myself from the 10 level of breaking, back down to a 2 or 3… that livable weight of reality that is easier to manage… When I’m at a 2 or a 3, if a twin pulls the other’s hair, or throws their cereal, a simple “whoops, we need gentle hands”, or “oh no, our cereal escaped our bowl” is my automatic response. When I’m at a 10, or a 12 like I feel like I am now, after another sleepless night with autism, my responses are not quite as kind. I’m a shadow of the parent I want to be, unrecognizably cold and shut down.

“So, what do you need?” it probes again.

How do I get to a 2 or a 3? How did I before COVID?

I had scheduled time… scheduled time that was mine… mine without interruption. Yes, there was a list of things to accomplish, but it was my choice in how they were done. 

It’s been months since my children went to school, or could be taken on adventure for a few hours so I could find quiet. Yes, I could leave, but where would I go?

“Last time… what do you need?” I know my time is running out. The violins are quieting. And reality is calling. Game time decision. Wash your face, girl, or let the world see you crumble.

The truth is… I’ve operated on less sleep. I have three children, and survived through breastfeeding twins. I’ve done this. My muscle memory is already trained and built. I think I’m just resentful that I thought this chapter of my life would be over by now, but instead, plays on repeat.

The truth is… I do have help. I have an incredible nanny who comes five days a week to help me navigate what lately feels like impossible moments of parenting autism during a pandemic to navigate. 

The truth is… I find breaks. We gave up working on the twins’ school weeks ago when the baby napped so I could take the break. And on the nights I really don’t sleep, those two hours are enough of a power nap to keep me on track.

“Think”, the voice smiles, “What do you need?”

And then it hits me.

I need to know it gets better.

I need to know we’re not alone in this, and that someone else has survived it.

I need to know that this type of chapter in raising littles with autism, or twin boys, or just three kids in general didn’t destroy someone else’s marriage, turn them into a cold, shut-down and mean monster of a person, or kept them from giving up completely.

I need to know that someone else’s special needs children who were up all night every night, (we’re going on 17 out of 22 nights right now) eventually slept through the night.

I need to know that kids will go back to school, and that the administration responsible for making that happen is aware of the repercussions this time is having on children who’s needs can’t be met with remote learning.

If I can find the lighthouse to focus on, I can weather the storm, and ride the waves. I can refocus, and celebrate the small wins that get us inches closer to that brighter destination. Not sure what it is yet, but anything is possible when you are willing to work for it, harder when necessary, never giving up.

I can feel my body rise, my hands find my cheeks to wipe the dampness, and my feet find the steps before them that walk me back to reality. 

This may not be over anytime soon: the extra strain that this pandemic has placed on so many of our realities. But if I can’t control the uncontrollable pandemic, I can choose to accept it, and only focus on what I can control. 

Dear reader… if you’ve been there, and gotten through it… share so that those of us who are in it, know we are not alone. And if you are in it with us, if any of this resonated, know we see you, and you are not alone. I have no idea how to fix it, but I promise to keep sharing in case it helps in any small way. 

Here’s to the lighthouses that make the waves of any storm feel possible to weather. May you find yours soon. XO

We Need Your Help

It still haunts me… the moment when our son ran into the house, tears streaming down his face, screaming as his scratched at his face furiously. It paralyzed me. I found a way to move toward him and try to comfort him, but it required following him for a matter of 10 minutes trying to calm him down.

I had watched the scene that sent him spiraling before he entered the house. The neighbors had a small fire going, about 15 to 20 feet from our yard. Although Luca stood in his “trees” which are really just large weeds that have grown to create this super cool path for the kids to play in, I thought he was a safe enough distance. The wind that day, proved me so very wrong. He watched the fire intently, trying to understand it, listening to it crackle. But then a large gust of wind took the smoke at him, and as he watched it like a rushing wave on the sea shore, it’s current taking him under with out warning, the smoke attacked his small body, with sensory over load. He couldn’t breath, and you could tell it stung his eyes, as he raced inside in a panic.

I wet a facecloth and held it over his tear stained face to try to stop the burning. I sang quietly and held him, rocking back and forth, hoping to calm him down. My wife was outside mowing the lawn, some where in the front where I couldn’t reach her. I wasn’t sure if he was allergic to the smoke or whatever was burning, or if he was simply scared and just couldn’t tell me.

That’s one of the hardest challenges we face, while Luca is still finding his words. He isn’t able to communicate what he needs as well as Jack, and it requires an elimination game of sorts. As I was parenting solo, I did the only thing I could think of to find answers that might help. I hopped on Facebook, posted about the situation, and hoped someone in my network could give me the words to explain how he was feeling when Luca couldn’t. There was instant support and things to consider, and it helped me triage faster than I ever expected.

Luca calmed down, his eyes relaxed and the puffiness and redness faded. He drank water and calmed his body on the couch. The tenseness in his muscles subsided, but the fear in his face remained. We kept a close eye on him all night, as he flinched at certain sounds, his eyes always searching the outside with caution, clearly traumatized.

I think, as parents, we’re always watching out for what could potentially harm them, trying to either shield as best we can, or hope we’ve given them the tools to face it head on, feeling prepared and capable. One of the most challenging parts of Autism with littles, when they have a sensory processing disorder, is that many of the things that could trigger them are foreign to us parents. The way they also process trauma, without the ability to talk through it, can seem equally foreign.

Luca stayed inside for three weeks. Our boy, who I imagined living in the mountains one day, due to his need to be in free open space as often as possible, had now trapped himself in the walls of his home, rushing to close any door when open, and crying in fear anytime you asked if he wanted to go outside. He would watch from the windows for any glimpse of smoke, and studying our neighbor has he continued to chop wood in the same place he had for months. About a week after the experience, he had some how found a video on youtube of a crackling fire, and had started to play it repeatedly for comfort. I kept expecting enough time to pass where he would eventually just go outside. But after three weeks, I was starting to get really worried.

I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t find a way to help him. I asked his teachers for help, and had even reached out to a friend who is a psychiatrist for a referral to someone local who could help us.

We took a chance of bringing him to an open field with his siblings, as I had hoped to take their annual photo with the apple blossoms. Although we weren’t able to get any image to be compiled in photoshop of the three kids, we were able to get Luca to run outside again, after parking in two different areas before he was interested in exiting the car. His feet hit the ground, the sun shined on his face, and you could see his body breath a sigh of relief. It was such a win for us. We let him run until exhausted, packing the kids back in the car with renewed hope.

We had opened the pool the last week of April, but decided to turn the heater on earlier than planned, just to see if he would go through our backyard to get to it. I went swimming first, sending him a video through my wife who was inside with him. He giggled, but still refused to go outside. The second day, we decided to just bring him out to the pool. My wife carried him, reassuring him he was safe, until he was in the fenced in area with 30,000 gallons of heated delightful water. That boy’s smile lit up ear to ear, he stripped out of his clothes, asked for his puddle jumpers, and jumped in with glee. It’s been 5 days now, and there hasn’t been one he hasn’t spent hours swimming.

The thing is, unless he’s swimming, he still won’t go outside. I still can’t understand it. A swing set that was donated by another family, and stained by my wife’s team, is sitting in our yard. I’ve worked, with the help of an amazing friend, to clear the area, removing hundreds of large obnoxious weeds, and level the ground. I enlisted my sister to help me pick up all the large, heavy, half-assembled pieces from my wife’s shop when the stain was dry, to get them to our back yard. (We did have to ask for muscles outside our own to get two crazy pieces- thank you friends who lifted those!) I even have 50ft of turf rolled beside it, ready to be laid out. Today I’ll spread a few yards of loam to finally level it, roll the turf out and hope we can start building the swing set this afternoon.

What worries me is I don’t even know if that will be enough to get him to play outside again. And what if it isn’t?

As a parent, I feel like I ask myself what-if’s so often, I miss being present, or at least as present as I want to be. I’m so worried about the potential, that I forget to live in the what is. I feel like lately, I’m always worried about what I can’t control, and now that I’ve found myself in a situation with real trauma, it’s testing my ability to show up and be the parent our child needs.

I’m working every possible answer I can control, by giving him highly preferred tasks in the hopes he can rebuild his muscle memory of feeling safe outside. If that doesn’t work, we’ll most likely need professional help, which may not be the easiest thing to obtain during these crazy pandemic times. Anything to shape the fears he has of going outside to be saved as a single memory, not the current reality of what being outside really is.

If you have any ideas, please share. I don’t typically ask questions here, but as I’ve connected with so many incredible parents who have walked in these shoes, or are on the journey as we speak, as well as phenomenal teens and young adults with autism, I am hoping someone might have something I haven’t thought of. Some way to understand what may click for him and make him feel safe again. Because if this swing set doesn’t work, I’m not sure what to do next. Thanks in advance. XO

Are you grieving?

The five well-known stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Until recently, I didn’t realize what I was feeling was grief, but now that I’ve made my way through all five, I thought I’d share in case helpful for anyone else…

I can remember hearing people say “this isn’t a big deal”… and “I’m not taking it that seriously.”

I mean- yes, I agreed on the toilet paper ridiculousness. Milk, bread, cheese- sure, but toilet paper? Still don’t get it…

But those first few weeks, I feel like we were all in denial. I know I was. 

I thought, “this is temporary, everything will go back to normal tomorrow.”

For me, it lasted about two weeks- and only a week of homeschooling, since our school gave us the first week “off”.

After the first week of filling out forms, taking photos, working on apps, and ignorantly believing I could create the school day in our home in a way that our autistic twins would find comfort and confidence in the routine that ended without warning. 

And then, the second stage hit: anger.

Granted, I had every right to be angry. I lost my nana, the matriarch in my family. But, I found that I started blaming anyone for anything because, quite simply, I was really mad.

I was not alone- my four-year-olds were with me. They yelled and screamed, and stomped their angry feet (calming tactic in this household). They were sick of doing the bear hunt, or practicing the letter “C”. And they started to take it out on each other. 

At one point, not that I’m proud to admit it, I was even mad at their school. How could they think that our autistic toddlers could actually get the services they need from home? (Clearly unfair of me to say, their administration is amazing, but I was mad, and needed to stomp my angry feet).

This lasted about a week for me. My practical self found it’s way to bargaining, and started to wish for any hope of summer school, claiming that if only this was happening to me ten years from now, when zoom calls could work for our kids… or if only I had arranged for services in the home to help the boys with OT and speech, then maybe we’d be able to provide a similar structure to what their used to… or if only I could set up an outdoor playground, complete with trampoline and a swing set, the boys would have everything they need to fill their days which means they’ll sleep at night…

I’m not going to lie… I did convince my wife to let us get the trampoline, and it was worth every penny! (If you need one, check this one out. Our friend did a ton of research and got it, and when I researched it, couldn’t agree more, and it’s SO amazing for the kids and their energy needs.)

And a swing set is in her shop, freshly painted, ready to be assembled thanks to an incredible human being who not only gave it to us for free, but kept it in his garage all winter when we forgot to pick it up last fall. SERIOUSLY incredible human being.

And then, last week… I hit the depression stage. I let my anxiety get the best of me… every time I read a headline that said school was officially done for the semester, that summer school wouldn’t happen for our kids… and that some areas were going to stay at the current status quo until August… I just got sad. Unbearably overwhelmed and sad. As it was raining, I gave our crew permission to quit school that week, saying if we got anything done at all it would be too small a win to count. The drama got a hold of me (and my kids, mind you) where I started to feel like this was the end… the end of all that was good… and how on earth could we ever get through this?

Thank heavens this week I found acceptance.

It’s like out of no where, it hit me. Snap out of it, Christina! Yes, we don’t know exactly when this is going to end - but it will end. Yes, it may be almost a full 9 to 12 months of school the kids have missed, but they will go back to school. Yes, the really tragic loss in this country will continue on, but eventually, it will stop. 

If you find yourself in any of the other stages before acceptance, maybe this mindset will help you give yourself a little grace, because whether or not you’ve physically lost something, you are experience grief. You are grieving what you thought your life would be right now, and the reality that a loss of that size has had an earthquake of an impact on your life. On what it was, what you thought it would currently be, and what it is to become. 

Defining moments are happening around you, and if you are like me, stuck in any stage but acceptance, you might be missing them. 

Moments I’m now paying attention to include: 

• Letting Jack need to hold my hand to fall asleep at night, and only mine. As exhausted as I am, he’s not going to want to do that forever. And as much as it’s DRIVING ME BONKERS that he literally needs me all day, it’s a humble reminder that one day he won’t need me, or even want me, and that will be the moments I’ll wish to have back. 

• Mustering up the energy every time Luca locks eyes, and excitedly begs “two eyes, nose, sharp teeth”, waiting with such sweet anticipation for me to make a scary face, raise my hands up with pretend claws and say “It’s a bear!” and chase after him for the 100th time that hour because he’s fixated on “The Bear Hunt”. I know it’s because it’s a world in which he and I understand each other, where I’ve gotten to his level, and listened and validated what he needs, despite any communication barriers. 

• Having a toddler during quarantine has been such a unique blessing. Alex lights up my day every time she barges through a room, shifting her hips in excitement, without a care int he world. Her smile and giggle just melt your heart. And as I watch her love her brothers, with such unfiltered admiration, learning from them, and teaching them at the same time, it gives me such needed perspective. And the moments when I feel her learning from my wife and I, like how when she’s really tired, and just wants to be loved, or give love, she will let you hold/rock her, and will softly rub your back, almost like she knows you need it, but with an equal encouragement asking you to rub hers in return. 

My best advice, after making it through all five stages, is to just hang in there. You’ve got this. Look for the facts in the situation that will help ground you in reality. Just make it to acceptance where you can remember that although this is hard, awful, sucks, and even unbearable at times, there’s such incredible collateral beauty in all of it. XO

Raising the Wild...

To the ones raising strong-willed children, who have big feelings but haven’t fully learned how to work through them yet, during this “unprecedented time” of social distancing and quarantine… this one’s for you…

We made it through our second week of home schooling for our twins this week, and I’m wiped. Going into the self-quarantine, and taking on working from home while trying to home-school three kids under the age of five (with help), I naively thought my greatest challenges would lie in working with Luca, and meeting his needs in the dependable way his teachers do at school. He has a team working for him five days a week, observing, evaluating, and attending to him during school hours in ways that I had no idea how I’d be able to while at home. I worried about his aggressive outbursts, and how I’d manage them in the hours I would be outnumbered 3:1, especially if they got more frequent with the lack of scheduled activities and individual attention his aid gives him.

But ya’ll… NOT EVEN CLOSE.

I’m exhausted.

I’m fried.

I’m wiped.

Not because working with Luca to meet his needs hasn’t taken energy- it has - but he’s been awesome, and receptive, and worked on using his language in ways I wasn’t able to experience before. It’s actually been incredibly rewarding.

I’m tired, not because our toddler, Alex, who is missing daycare and friends in her expected neurotypical fashion, and is needing extra attention because others are not seeking hers in the classroom.

I’m worried about how long the status quo is going to last in our new normal because lately, I feel like I’m…

Raising the WILD.

No, seriously.

Our sweet, caring, and completely impressive boy, Jack, is so strong-willed that I think he might break me. He questions everything all day long. He’s the first to rise in the house, pulling me out of bed before the sun’s come up- and quite frankly- far before anyone else in our household is willing to join him.

I’ve shared how he feels big feelings, but, lord give me strength, his feelings since not having school and connection to friends every day are MASSIVE. They span the open dessert for miles and miles and the suck up every breath of air I have during the day.

Our nanny and I will set up the lessons for the day, and just as we’re patting each other on the back because it’s going well, it’s like his time of the month hits and just because Luca is enjoying it, it means he can’t, and we’re completely derailed.

Every time he decides to share these feelings with our social distanced world, they hit a volume that I swear pulls our neighbors into our bubble, despite that we are acres away from them physically.

And lately, the following tools are what we are focused on having him master:

• Gentle Hands

• Teasing isn’t Kind

• Soft Voice and Open Listening Ears

• Space is Kind

That is the nicest way I feel like I can frame for you the constant tackling of siblings with strength that can hurt and injure, the need to push every button Luca has, the volume of his whine, and the refusal to read the room when someone doesn’t want him on top of him, in case he were ever to read this one day.

Ya’ll…. even when his sister is napping and it’s the nanny and I with the twins, and one on one time is available, it’s still our biggest challenge.

At one point this week, when we learned that schools were indefinitely closed until at least May 4- but let’s be realistic, most likely the rest of the semester - Jack and I were already having a tough day. His anxiety was high, and even though he had had BEAUTIFUL moments throughout the day, when he was able to name his feelings and work through them, or ask for help when needed - I was FRIED, and more so with not having a date at which I needed to make it to, when we could all go back to the normal we so desperately miss.

After I finally got him to bed, during not the easiest bedtime routine, I snapped at my wife, and even went upstairs to take some space of my own. After putting away the laundry that had been haunting me all week, sending the emails to the kids teachers with photos of proof of what’s gotten completed throughout the day, and completing a few business-related tasks for my wife, I finally made it to the shower. I could feel myself relax, had a decent therapeutic cry, and when I finally made it to my pajamas, I could hear my father’s words from the speech at my wedding ring through my ears: “she had a flair for the dramatic”.

I winced.

I laughed.

I smiled, remembering the adoration he had in his voice when he said it.

And then I looked up to the heavens and said “Dear Lord, please don’t let this be my karma.” I’m going to naively continue to live in denial thinking he was merely referencing the many performances on stage he watched during my short-lived theatre career and that 4-year-degree as a Theatre major he helped to pay for. (Humor me!)

Here I was, week two of quarantine, feeling pretty lousy in a pity party of exhaustion, and I was acting like my four-year-old child to my adult spouse. I hadn’t gotten a chance to shower that day, so I wasn’t feeling like my best self to start. I was hungry, because I had maybe been able to snack throughout the day, but despite getting dinner on the table for her, never actually got to eat myself. And the glass of wine that I had on an empty stomach was definitely not the wisest choice.

I was having BIG FEELINGS, and not able to deal with them.

I wasn’t using my words.

I wasn’t asking for help.

I wasn’t owning how the quarantine was making me feel. I missed my family. I missed my friends. I missed my spouse. I missed my freedom when all three kids were at school. My anxiety was through the roof, and hadn’t had a break to speak to the one person who for 45 minutes only cared about how I was doing, and let me talk about anything I needed to say. And I was ASHAMED I was having those feelings.

Just earlier that day I was talking with a friend I admired and cared for, who was working through her anxiety about leaving her family every shift, to work in the NIC-U as one of the most heroic nurses I could think of. Her anxiety was real. Mine was selfish and unplaced, and I was disappointed in myself that I wasn’t able to handle things better for Jack that day, or with my spouse.

What’s going on in the world is “unprecedented” - this term that is making so many of us roll our eyes because it does nothing to reassure us that the worst isn’t the yet to come. The unknown makes things feel hopeless and doomed for worst case scenarios in ways that can make us feel unhinged.

Imagine what it feels like for our wild ones, who haven’t been able to fully comprehend the social stories we’re trying to give them to understand why one day they were living their best lives, and the next day they were told they couldn’t see their friends, learn with their teachers, and play in public places or intimate play dates.

If we as adults, with decades more life experience than our kids, are having a hard time, then maybe we can find some grace and perspective for our littles who only know one way to feel.

If you are raising the wild-hearted, passionate, and dramatic at times souls that I feel like we are in Jack, I need you to hear me when I say, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. This is hard, ya’ll. None of it is easy. But having the unruly who can’t comprehend the simple requests that could make life “simpler” during a difficult time, like “keep your hands off your sister”, or “please keep your voice down”, or “stop teasing or he’s going to beat the crap out of you every time! (no one else? that’s just me? oh, well, ok then… ;p )… and maybe are asking “why” 1,000 times a day because they actually want to learn why something is happening during a time they just can’t understand… YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

The one driving force to my staying sane as I manage all the BIG FEELINGS going on in our household during quarantine, social distancing, and homeschooling, is that something I assume about most of the kindred spirits in my life, who I rely on to keep me steady during turmoil and chaos, inspire me to be a better person because they expect more of me, and are passionate game changers leaving an impactful footprint on this world.

As the week continued, when Jack was overly loud, or extremely needy, or beyond frustrated- I focused on what I’ve found to work from him in the past: we talked through feelings, used token boards where he could earn a preferred activity once he tackled a wanted behavior five times, and used books and songs to understand why we feel certain emotions throughout the day. His favorite, is “Belly Breath” by Common and Colbie Caillat, in case you have a child that might be interested.

Instead of Jack being able to just say “I’m ANGRY”, or “I’m sad”, we worked on adding the “because…” to complete the sentence. By the end of the week, although the tantrums were still at large and the behaviors continual, he was able to express why he was feeling how he was feeling twice on Friday, and even shared with Luca that he needed to “belly breath” because he was “so mad he could not be kind” - his words, hand to God.

I have no idea how long this new normal is going to last. There are days it feels like we are living in Hunger Games or The Maze, and it’s all some kind of Big Brother experiment. All we can do is continue to hope for warm weather where our children can run the wild out before it takes over our sanity. As parents, my wife and I are focused on trying to give Jack the tools he needs to harness that energy and use it for good one day.

With no control over how many more tantrums are in store for us during this new season, or “accidental” injuries are caused to his little sister when he plays too rough, or buttons he pushes with Luca that initiate aggressive reactions… I have little advice on how to navigate the unknown while raising the wild in this different time. But what I can share, is that YOU ARE NOT ALONE, and let’s hope that all of their determination stays strongly grounded in their souls, and used to change the world for the better one day, because as a parent who is dealing with it hourly - trust me when I tell you, it’s not something you want to reckon with.

I look forward to witnessing their passionate advocacy, creatively found solutions, and unwillingness to give up on what they care about, for they are who will be our mark on the world, as we were the ones responsible for raising the wild.

Xo.

Five Powerful Things

Here are 5 Powerful Things I’ve Learned From My Kids During the First Week of Quarantine

It feels surreal that we’re about to start week two of Quarantine for COVID-19 in NH. (Yes, technically I guess we started this morning, but for most parents I feel like Monday morning is when it feels like it REALLY starts.)

As I think about the first week of quarantine, bracing myself for week two of only heaven knows how long of a quarantine session, I’m trying to focus on the incredible learning experience this is as a family. Here are five powerful things that I learned from my kids during the first week of quarantine.

1 .) The Power of Positivity: Despite the unknown disruption to our three children’s schedules, the smiles are still present. For the twins, routine is key to happiness, and they’ve had to find moments of unexpected happiness in dealing without a solid routine.

2.) The Power of Great Leaders: Each morning, when Jack expected to be able to school, particularly near the beginning of the week, his first response each time I explained he wouldn’t be able to go, was the same: “But Miss Kelly will miss me”, followed by “and Miss Shannon and Miss Sabrina” - in the order he sees his teachers each day. The first thing he misses when he realizes he can’t go to school are the incredible educators who would have taught him something new that day. He misses their lessons, their kindness, their encouragement, and their friendship.

3.) The Power of the Bubble: I will admit, my wife and I have probably tuned into the news far more in the last few weeks then we have in the last few years. Not due to lack of interest, but more due to the children dictating what goes on the television. However, this week, each episode of the World News with David Muir has been saved to our DVR, and as often as we can we’ve been tuned into the Corona Virus task force updates. Like so many, it’s weighed heavily on our hearts as we comprehend what’s going on in the world today. But, as heavy as it is, the moment the news is off, our children pull us back into our bubble, demanding a juice box or a story to be read; asking to play hide and seek, or play with “sea animals” (Luca). Our amazing little bubble, the one that if we can just protect, keep safe, and keep surviving for, keeps us grounded enough to keep moving forward.

4.) The Power of Simplicity: The incredible parents who have tackled homeschooling their children with flair and pintrest worthiness, I say: KUDOS. I’m thoroughly impressed by the many videos and images being posted of all the intricate activities and lesson plans parents are pulling off, WHILE working, mind you. Ya’ll… I am not going to lie: even WITH help this week, I did not get any homeschooling done. We took the week off. Luca wasn’t feeling well for the first few days, I was trying to educate Jack that working from home for Mommy meant that Mommy actually had to work, while keeping a Toddler entertained. We were lucky to have smiling faces each day. What was amazing was that the kids didn’t really care. They liked that we kept it simple and gave them choices. And although our amazing nanny is ready and willing to get us on track for homeschooling tomorrow, I have a feeling we will maintain the “keep it simple” mentality - for both the kids, and ourselves. If I’m not careful, I’ll get overwhelmed and waste time worrying about what I can control. But if I keep it simple, focus on the tasks at hand like getting my hours in for work, getting the kids onto a new routine, and just making sure the conversation has important lines of communication stay open to address needs from everyone, I feel like we can at least survive one more week. (Let’s hope!)

5.) The Power of Friendship: Even for our introverted boy, it’s beyond clear that he misses the companionship of his friends. Although Jack and Alli have each other, and have been truly enjoying their new classmates, they each miss their own people outside of this house hold. For the twins, Facetime does not cut it. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve Facetimed almost any and everyone we could, and they are thrilled to see themselves on the camera. Each time we get off the phone, particularly with those they really miss, they say it isn’t the same. Just today, Jack said to me how he missed two friends, because they were “nice to him”. They miss the feeling of being with someone you care about does for your heart. And although we’re grateful for technology that keeps us connected to those we care about, I can’t wait to see the faces of these kids when they get to be reunited with those that warm their hearts. I feel like it’s going to be epic!

What powerful lessons did you learn this week? Feel free to share! Would love to learn from yours too!

And then, there's Alli...

More often then not, when I share our journey with Autism, I’ll write in detail about Jack and Luca, as the diagnosis with Autism lies with them. But really, it’s all of our journey with autism. Not just the twins who are navigating each of their unique diagnosis, or us as their parents learning how to parent it every day… it’s her’s too.

Alli is neurotypical, at least from what we know so far. She’s spunky and sassy, and sweeter than sugar. Girlfriend has a waddle that puts a penguin to shame, and a heart of gold that can melt any of your worst fears away. She loves to go to daycare with friends, can’t only have one oreo - ever - and has a sweet spot for her Pop Pop, in a way that she never holds back from him.

When Alex is sick, all she wants to do is snuggle on the couch, and although she’ll chase after her brothers like the best of them, she’s also more then content to get lost in a good movie. When she’s hungry, she’ll eat anything from a cheese stick and raisins, to carrots and chicken, to won ton soup and crab rangoon - no limitations or hesitations on anything we put in front of her. She takes medicine when she’s told, especially when she doesn’t feel goo, and she’s slept through the night since 2 months old. When Alli wants something, she asks for it, and if you can’t understand what she’s telling you, she brings you directly to what she wants until you can figure it out long enough to get it for her. And Alex understands when something is not “safe for her body” without too much fuss or an argument, or our needing to remove her from a situation so she doesn’t hurt herself. Don’t get me wrong, she is a toddler, for sure, and there are caveats to everything listed above, but she’s a typical toddler, something that was foreign to us before our rainbow baby.

She’s our third child, and like most third children, she gets the benefit and the cost of having older siblings. She has tiny humans to learn from, and parents who aren’t on their first go-around, but she also gets less of the excitement when she accomplishes a first, and less of the individual attention. She has best friends at her disposal any hour of the day while at home - which right now, during COVID19’s quarantine, is incredibly handy - but she also has two other humans vying for her parents attention at all times.

She is neurotypical, and because of that, she’s provided us a different understanding of parenting, as we know she comprehends things that her older brothers cannot, and handles things differently as a whole. Although we treat all our children equally, the boys autism has taught us about certain comfort levels for foods, sensory overloads, learning, social settings, etc. For Alex, we’re learning, she’s pretty easy going, and outside of asthma and age appropriate bouts of stranger-danger, hasn’t really shown to have situations we need to prepare for every day like we do with the twins.

Where they excel, in certain areas of their magic, she may never thrive. She may never know the 80 different types of sharks that live in the sea (exaggerating on the number), or every line of the Big Bad Wolf in the 20 different adaptations there are out there. She may have to study really hard for a test, where her brother(s) have heightened memories and can remember anything from reading it once. She may thrive in social settings, have great groups of friends, and find that social interaction gives her great satisfaction, when her brother(s) may find great comfort in one or two friends instead.

I wonder what this will be like for her when she grows up. I wonder how this will shape her life, having two autistic brothers. I wonder what her perspective will be. I believe this child will be an empathic, someone who will be a caretaker, both in her field of employment, but also in her personal life. How could she not, growing up in the life that has chosen her.

Although I wonder about all the possibilities that could make her life full, and wonderful, there is a part of me scared to admit that I wonder about the chances that could make life feel like less, and potentially, resentful. Even the loveliest of human beings are human. Like in the amazing movie, Wonder, during the scene where the older sister admits that her parents never had time for her, and even those she loved her brother more than anything in the world, it could make her feel very alone at times- I worry that Alli could be sad that the twins require so much of our time.

I think, for all our children, all we can ever do is try our best, and hope for the best, while remaining aware and in tune at all times. This happy-go-lucky toddler provides no room for concern at the moment, and very well may read this one day and laugh at my “worries and wonders” because they were for no reason. At least, I’ll take comfort in that hope for now, continuing to share Alli’s story as well, because I do think it’s an adorable, important, and instrumental part of our journey.

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!

Can't vs Won't

Can’t vs Won’t…

It was a typical Saturday morning, wrestling kids over scattered toys in the playroom... too lazy to get out of pajamas, but full of pent up energy as the cold winter weather continues.

The house was a mess, and the playroom looked like it threw up all over itself. Luca was in search of something, but couldn’t communicate exactly what. I followed him out into the kitchen, as I watched his movements become frantic. Asking him if I could help, he replied with “bink” and I said “Ok,” but took a minute to grab a few toys on the floor in the other direction, so I could put them back in the playroom when returned to it, trying to be efficient with my efforts (because when are we not picking up toys!!!). It took a minute too long because when Luca saw that I said I would help, but my actions and body language told him I was saying no, his frustration overwhelmed him for being ignored. As it quickly bubbled over, he turned to notice his little sister walking toward him, pacifier in mouth (unconsciously rubbing it in his face), which set him over the edge. Before we knew it, he went to pull her hair to tell us how mad he was. He pulled so hard that when we separated him seconds later, strands were in between his finger tips.

After calming them both down, getting Luca his bink and putting him in a safe space while being held, comforting Alex separately, apologizing that we couldn’t protect her from just walking through the kitchen, Steph and I looked at each other scared. Luca’s aggression has peaked lately, and his go-to when frustrated is to pull hair. Poor Jack gets the brunt of it. And I can’t imagine how hard it is to be in Luca’s shoes where he has not found the words or understanding on how to safely express his feelings or ask for help to meet his needs, but watches both his brother (who used to share his struggles) and his little sister do so with ease. But as his parents, we are at a loss too. We don’t know how to give him what he needs as we aren’t trained in ABA or therapies to teach a child with learning disabilities to communicate. And what’s harder, is that Luca has the strength of a 5 year old (kid has a six-pack and is crazy strong) but the communication skills of a 2 year-old. Have you ever felt like you were trapped in the wrong body? Poor kid feels it to the extreme every day. 

To try to explain it another way… when we’ve worked with Alex over the last three months, since she begun discovering her sea legs, and becoming incredibly mobile with her sassy waddle, we’ve constantly been on the look out to ensure she avoids all corners to tables not realizing where her head now reaches. As she’s learning to navigate this world, we are constantly working to make her aware of the dangers around every corner, while letting her ride without the training wheels.

When I think of how this relates to Luca… his learning delays almost required him to live life with training wheels permanently attached for the time being, despite that he feels ready to fly without fear of eating pavement - not because he won’t… but because he can’t. He will be five years-old this summer, and his sister who hasn’t even reached her two-year-old birthday, knows how to express her emotions through words with more direct intention than he does. When Alex is sad, she screams, cries and asks for help. When Luca is upset, he bottles it up, holding it in, until he can’t hold it in any longer and it explodes out of him. As he is so introverted, we can completely miss for how long he is frustrated for until it’s so evident that we are in “danger” mode. In the moment it will feel like he’s acting out for no reason, but afterwards, when we retrace our steps, we realize that had we been paying better attention, we could have seen it coming, and more successfully prevented any hurt caused from our lack of notice.

Let me remind you. Luca’s magic is the love that bursts out of that small sweet heart of his. He can be the sweetest, kindest, most caring child. Our son is not a mean or vicious boy, but as we are working to give him the skills it takes to deal with the massive emotion that drives such aggressive acts, we are struggling with remembering and recognizing this one key factor of can’t vs won’t. In the moments we can realize that it’s not a situation of won’t - that he won’t just simply be kind to his sister, or won’t be more patient and trust that I’ll be with him as soon as I can, it gives us the perspective to remember that at this moment in time, he simply can’t be kind when his emotions are erratically racing through his body causing his temperature to feverishly heighten, and can’t wait any longer because maybe this is the 10th time he’s had to compete with two other human’s demands from his mother and at this moment he is tired of waiting. In those moments when we are patient and find grace to breath through any frustration we are feeling with the spiral of effects from this poor child’s moment of defeat, we are able to remember what we can’t vs won’t do as his parents. In those moments we are able to focus on the fact that as mature adults with learned perspective, if we don’t address him to let him know we hear him, it’s not that we can’t be the parents he needs, it’s in that moment, we won’t be the parents he needs, and so we choose to be better. We choose to keep paying attention, keep trying harder, and keep learning what he needs, even if those needs change daily.

We’ve been told by others to discipline the behavior, to put him in a time out, or simply “require more from him.” But I share this because it’s a perspective that may change the way you look any human behavior - understanding if someone can’t vs. won’t in the moment, can help you better determine how you could/should/do react in return. If Luca were to go in a time out, he would laugh- because he laughs when he’s sad or scared. It would not resonate with him, it would have the opposite effect. And heaven forbid he were to be “disciplined” - it would do nothing more than show him that violence is an acceptable response to unwanted behaviors. We can’t expect more from him at this moment in time. That little boy works as hard as he can day in and day out at school with his teachers and friends, and at home with his parents and siblings.

So, we choose to instead, meet him at his level. To remove him safely from the opportunity to hurt someone further. To make sure he knows we weren’t ignoring him and that he has our attention to help calm him down, for as long as he needs. To ensure his sibling(s) are safe from allowing the situation to escalate. Yes, there are times this feels impossible, this weekend being one of them, as Alex felt defenseless, and like a line we weren’t willing to let him cross yet. But in that moment, when we battled our own emotions, we relied on each other to hold ourselves accountable to remember can’t vs won’t.

Because we can be better parents. We can choose to take time to learn more about our son, and everything that he is, not just a diagnosis. We can pay extra attention to his body language, and ensure that when he asks for something, remember that he only asks if he really needs it, so to give it the importance it deserves.

Remember, behavior is communication. Just because someone isn’t using words to speak, doesn’t mean that you can’t hear them, it means you won’t hear them, and are choosing not to. Choose to listen.

Three Strikes and Birthday Parties...

I’ve found that every weekend lately, I’m learning something new about how our family functions with autism. And as the twins are of the age where their friends are all having birthday parties, many weekends are dictated by who is celebrating what, where the event is, if we think our kids could handle it, and if it’s worth all of the domino effect that it will inevitably put into play by attending said friend’s celebration. Yes, I will admit that there are many “school-related” birthday parties that we politely decline because of this domino effect that can require a week’s worth of clean-up due to sensory overload and an overwhelming anxiety attack for the twins that sends them so far off the irregular edge that regularity can literally take days of a routine to remind them, calm them, and re-regulate them. But when one of your best friends is celebrating a birthday, even though it’s at one of the least friendly places for children with autism and sensory issues, you figure out how to show up. 

Towards the end of last week, as Steph and I were gearing up for whatever the weekend would entail, she noticed the birthday invitation reminder on our fridge, and asked me if I thought we should ask our old Nanny to come with us, so we could be 3 vs 3 (three adults vs three kids). Typically, I would have said yes, but for some reason (Insert FOOT IN MOUTH and KICK MY OWN BEHIND), I said, “Babe, these are our people, we will have plenty of friends who can help if we need it. Besides, the kids will follow J & P’s lead, like they always do.” I’m not really sure why I was so confident, as I’m usually far more aware. And, as the very open helicopter parent, my wife just assumed because I said it would be ok, then it would be. This wasn’t just another friend’s party, this was our very best friends party. We would know everyone there, including all the extended family. Our boys knew their extra “uncles” and “aunts”, who were all friends turned into chosen family because of our friendship with the parents, and we knew they knew our family- so we knew if we needed help we could ask. But this, this decision to not bring extra help, would be my Strike One. 

On Saturday night, Jack was having a hard time wanting to go to bed, so I reminded him that his friend J’s birthday party was the next morning. He LIT up, saying how he was going to hug her and sing her happy birthday, quickly getting into his pjs and tucked under his covers in the hopes falling asleep would bring him closer to celebrating her. He woke up that morning, cheerful and practicing singing, in great anticipation for the party. (Thank goodness it was a 9:15 am party or practicing patience until an afternoon event may have been pretty trying for a Sunday!) He even shared with Luca and Alex about our special trip that morning, and they all practiced singing together.

When we pulled up to the parking lot for the party, we noticed our friends standing outside, hands and arms full of bags, waiting for the event venue to be unlocked. After a few moments, when they were allowed inside, we headed in as well. Cowabunga’s is a large indoor play area, with plenty of jump houses, a maze, some party rooms, and then games, etc. As it would not open to the public for another hour, the music was on low, and there weren’t more than 20 of us inside yet, providing a very low key for our kids to start their morning off at ease. They ran after the birthday girl to play on the maze structure with glee.

I’m not sure why for a moment I stepped off my game, but I saw the stress on my friend’s face, looked to my wife for the nod of the go-ahead, and jumped in to offer my help. The cupcakes had toppled over in the carrier, the cake topper had been forgotten at home on the counter, and she looked at me and said “I may need you to…” to which I immediately I nodded and said of course! She handed me the cake mess, extra frosting, paw patrol rings for toppers, and I went to work. It felt so familiar in this strange comforting way, that I think I stopped worrying about my kids for a beat. (WINCE) Ya’ll… I’m a helicopter parent - there’s a reason why you don’t stop worrying about your kids for a beat - ESPECIALLY in an autism-nightmare of a location. But, I was selfish, because as ridiculous as it sounded - it felt so good to be needed by my friend. As I watched the other moms arrive with their kids - moms from the school where all their kids go together - moms who I watch their relationships with my friend play out on Facebook of all of these amazing trips that only neurotypical families could do - and I watched them smile and laugh about the same eye lashes they had tried out (which sounds so simple but always something that is very “girlfriend-esq” and something that I had missed with my friend for the last few years), I don’t know... something selfish in me wanted to be the friend who was helping with the stupid cake. So instead of checking on my spouse and three children, not doing the math calculating if more moms were arriving, so were their kids, which meant the noise level and body count were rising where my kids were, two key triggers for the twins that could turn a good situation bad very quickly, I focused on frosting cupcakes to be “that friend” who helped her friend in her moment of need. 

I may have spent a total of seven minutes helping my friend re-ice the cupcakes, throw decorations on them, and move them to the party room. SEVEN minutes. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But when those seven selfish minutes were over, I walked back into a very small enclosed space with two large bounce houses that the party had been moved into, with over 30+ kids and their parents, where it was so loud I couldn’t even think, and as my eyes fell on my wife inside a bounce house - the severity of those seven minutes sunk in. It was almost like that scene from Four Christmases (if you haven’t seen it, it’s hilarious, but the scene that played out before me of a grown woman in a bounce house was not bringing on the laughs of Reese Witherspoon chasing down a toddler for the “pee stick” she stole... it was more like in the terrifying way of if my wife is in the bounce house, something is wrong), and as my gaze followed her arm reaching to the top of this very large bounce house, there stood Luca petrified, tears pouring from his eyes over his beat red cheeks, too scared to come down, but frozen and unable to save himself from all the children pushing past him to get to the slide. I quickly felt Alex grasp my legs, and Jack yelling “Mommy” on her coat tails. My wife looked back at the sound of his voice to see my arrival and ya’ll - it was not a great look in my direction - then she refocused on saving Luca. I yelled for him, and when he saw me, he let Steph get him down, and we took our three crying children out of the room to find a quiet spot to calm down in the large portion of the facility. This, this was my Strike Two.

It took a solid 10 minutes of breathing (for everyone, not just the kids), and redirection before we all got back on track. Steph explained that everything had been fine for the first few moments, but as more and more kids had arrived, Alex wanted to keep up with the “big” kids, getting herself into the actual bounce house, which forced Steph to take her gaze away from watching Luca climb the structure, and then to find Jack as she instantly realized he had disappeared to a corner, scared of the noise and extra friends. Steph had quickly asked 6-year-old P (the older sibling of our best friends kids) to go find and comfort Jack while she worked to remove Alex from getting squashed by larger children in the bounce house.

Once P brought Jack back, and Steph had gotten Alex out of the massive blown-up structure, she began to search for Luca again. Unable to find him, she looked to one of our “chosen family” friends and asked him where I was, to which he explained that I had been helping with the cake. She gave him a serious plea to get me quickly, but by the time he had exited the room, I was already on my way in. The thing is… yes, our amazing friends there that day knew us… had been around the kids since they were born… but they didn’t really know the severity of what could have happened in that moment. They didn’t know what kind of danger Luca could have been in at the top of that bounce house if we couldn’t get to him in time. Because unless you are living with autism… unless you are parenting it during some of your children’s most scared moments, most vulnerable experiences, you can’t understand what SEVEN SELFISH MINUTES can mean.

We were beyond grateful that the staff said our kids could play in the larger portion of the space and didn’t have to go back to the small enclosed room. Another mom had headed out with her toddler as well, and so we all played together, enjoying the space in quiet. We watched the kids chase each other up and down the slides, rushing throughout the maze to play hide and seek, eventually discovering the area where they could send soft small balls up an airshaft, into a bucket, that they could eventually release like a rain shower back into the pit. This became the favorite part of the morning. 

The kids played throughout the space for nearly 45 minutes, even after it opened to the public, and families we didn’t know continued to enter the indoor play facility. We followed them in their exploration, ever aware the birthday party was continuing on behind closed doors without us, in a space our kids simply couldn’t function.

At one point, Luca entered a jump house of two large slides. He explored the area with the ladders that allowed you to climb up to the top, ever curious but too scared to climb.

Thinking he would love the large slide if I could just help him up there, I climbed into the bounce house behind him, and began to help him up the stairs. I didn’t force him, but he held on to me so tightly as we hoisted ourselves to a new height, should have been an indicator to me that he was more scared than excited. At one point, when we were at the very top, he said “No, Mommy, no” and threw his arms around my neck tightly. I reassured him, “I’ve got you buddy, it will be fun!”, and quickly slid our bodies down the slide to the bottom. When we got to the bottom, I looked eagerly at my son, expecting to see pure delight in his face, but my gaze met anything but. “All done,” he said as he wriggled out of my arms, “socks and shoes, buh bye” he finished with. That was it, my Strike Three.

And just like that, what I had expected to be an awesome Sunday, had me benched from that “mom-of-the-year” game, chasing after my son who’s fight or flight risk had kicked in and he was headed toward the door. Although I was able to distract him by the toys for sale until I could grab my wife’s attention, our morning was rushing toward a close. Once all three kids were together, Steph allowed them to look for a toy, and I reentered the private party room, searching for our shoes and jackets, and stealing a quick hug from our friends, apologizing for having to leave in such a rush. We got all three kids layered and shoes on, leaving Steph inside with Jack to pay for the prizes they got for good behavior, so I could exit the building safely, holding Luca to my hip in a way he couldn’t run away from me in the parking lot, letting our Toddler walk herself out of the party holding my hand. Half his age, our neurotypical daughter could control herself with more discipline than her brother, understanding the dangers she faced in a parking lot in a way that Luca simply can’t. When he is in sensory over load, he does not look, he simply runs. He does not get scared about a parent not following him, or not finding him for whatever reason, because he isn’t even scared about or aware of what dangers could face him where he runs. Both Alex and Jack, they look to us when they fear danger - Luca, however, merely runs from it- into the unknown. So when he is in flight mode, the only focus we can have is how to get him safely secure in to the car, until he calms down.

Jack never got to sing Happy Birthday to his friend as she blew out the candles of her four-year-old cake. The moment when we were all in the car, he realized that he missed the ever-important birthday milestone, the one he had practiced all morning to make sure he could do just like the other kids, and became very upset. We promised we’d find a way to celebrate her at another time, even offering to bake her a cake, but there was no consoling this loss for him. Kicking and screaming, crying uncontrollably, he eventually exhausted himself into silence, falling asleep in his chair.

In truth, I could understand what he was feeling. I might not have thrown a temper tantrum, but I knew what it felt like hoping we could have been there when the lights went down and the candles awaited wishes to be blown to celebrate J’s birthday. My selfish seven minutes where I just wanted to be “that friend” again, “that friend” that could be relied on to fix the current disaster, or “that friend” who was in on whatever the “current thing” was - even if it was silly eye lashes - those selfish seven minutes weren’t any different than my four-year old throwing a fit as we drove away from a birthday party he so desperately wanted to attend, but couldn’t really handle. 

I cried on the way home, sharing with my wife how sad I was about how the morning played out, admitting that I was selfish because I missed my friend and was jealous of all the other moms who were living the friendship I thought I’d eventually get to live with the person who I thought would be my “mom-person” during the chapter of raising our kids. I admitted how ridiculous I felt in being proud to have been the person she needed to fix the icing - I mean, it was ICING! How ridiculous is that?

I cried like my four-year-old cried about his disappointment of the day.  I cried as I shared that lately I felt like outside of her (my wife), my best friend was my Mother-In-Law, because she was officially Granny Nanny, and my greatest confidant because I never got out any more. I never had girl’s nights, because they always conflicted with bedtimes for the kids and the kids needed their routine in order to get any sleep, a routine that required I be present from the hours of 6-7pm. Granny watched my children every day after school so that I could continue to work. She understood that their behaviors weren’t something that needed to be “disciplined” and that my parenting wasn’t causing their outbursts, like many liked to judge when they would watch us in public places. She understands that it can take everything you have, on a night after no sleep, to be patient and be what the twins need. We don’t go to salons and get our nails done together. We don’t stop by the mall for a cappuccino and to buy a new blouse. We do drink wine together- but that’s a different story. Granny has become my person because she understands what it is to care for someone with autism in a way that my friends with neurotypical families simply can’t. I couldn’t be more grateful to have someone like that present in my every day.

Steph held my hand and let me cry as we drove home. No judgement, no longer angry that she was the solo parent during my seven selfish moments, and when I was done crying, she simply said, “I get it. It’s ok. It’s just not our life.” She looked over her shoulder quickly and said, “they need us. And you and I, we just aren’t those type of parents who can ignore that.”

Living with autism can be very lonely- for both those with the diagnosis, but also those effected by the diagnosis. As lonely as it can be, I wouldn’t change a thing about it for our family. Next time, I’ll make sure we bring a third adult. I’ll make sure I fully understand what the party structure is like. I’ll make sure I remember it’s a kids birthday party, not a girl’s night out catching up with my best friend, and let someone else take care of the icing. The wins from that day, the really important moments that I would rather focus on, are that our kids over came fears, had so many happy moments, and that Luca was able to tell me when he had had enough. It’s all about perspective. There will be another birthday party where we can do better for our kids. Where we can ensure they get to experience all of the magic of celebrating important moments with their friends, and where Jack gets to sing when the candles get blown out. 

What I learned this weekend was that despite all the challenges we knew we would face, we still showed up. Yes, we couldn’t last very long in the greater scheme of the party, but we were present in attendance for the people we cared about. Yes, I may not be the friend that could set-up all the food, but I am the friend that showed up 10 minutes early and who wanted to be who fixed the cupcakes so my friend didn’t feel alone in the chaotic panic of the moment. Yes, we had to leave early, but we lasted nearly an hour and a half, in one of the most chaotic sensory-overload locations you can think of. The photos we posted that day were of smiling children enjoying a typical childhood experience at a play place. They didn’t capture the images of Luca terrified at the top of a bounce house, or of my wife trying to juggle children while I iced cupcakes, or of Luca trying to escape through the exit, or Jack screaming and crying strapped in his car seat, frustrated he couldn’t just go back in to sing to his friend. It’s not a lie, what we post to social media, it’s the memory we want our children to remember about how we enjoyed their childhood with them. That when their friends had a birthday party, we showed up, had a great time, and made sure they knew we were there. 

And yes, I may have completely struck out, but like any amazing game of baseball, I have the most incredible teammate to rely on for support, for council as I tried to understand what I did wrong, for reassurance that it was only “one up at bat” and who reminded me that we learn something every time we are open to learn. The point is, if we teach our children anything about life, I hope it’s how important it is to show up for the people you care about, even when it scares you or makes you uncomfortable; that anytime you strike out - whether hypothetically - or hopefully, actually playing baseball/softball (because we seriously love baseball/softball!!!) - you can learn something from it, something that will make you stronger and wiser the next time you step up to that plate; and that the very best part about the game of life is who you chose to play alongside, for they show you what being a team truly means.

***For the neurotypical parents reading this, please note, the moral here is to not host your parties at venues like Cowabungas, because that is why those venues exist and 98% of the kids that day enjoyed every aspect of it. This is merely our experience in case others are getting of the age to approach how to handle birthday parties, in the hopes it can help their navigation to make it the best experience possible.

The Power of Siblings...

Just the other day, I found myself admitting to another mom that I’m not sure we would have chosen to have more kids had we known of the boys’ diagnosis before getting pregnant. The second the words came out of my mouth I regretted it. But, as much as I regretted it, it was the truth. And that truth breaks my heart because I cannot imagine our life without this little neurotypical nugget. As I continue to work with parents of children on the spectrum, I think this share is important because adding siblings can be such a crucial transition and dynamic for a family, and a particularly different one for families with “differently wired*” children.

Alex at age 15 months.

Alex was our “bow baby”, meaning she tied our family with a bow of completion. When we did IVF for the twins, we were so fortunate to have 11 eggs make it to day 5 of the process. We used the two for the twins, and then were in amazing shape with 9 frozen embryos to consider the future of our family, providing the twins siblings.

When the twins were a year-and-a-half, we felt like we were finally getting some sleep, and ready to try again. We had this SILLY concept that we wanted to get all the “hard” out of the way while it was “still hard” before we forgot what “hard” felt like. YA. I know all the parents and care-givers are laughing at that one. But you don’t know what you don’t know, right?

The first attempt at IVF was successful, but I was traveling for work, working nearly 80 hours in a four-day time period for one of our biggest events, and lost that pregnancy at nine weeks. It was a very hard loss to swallow. I knew it was my fault. I traveled across the country, barely slept, and worked on my feet for an on-godly amount of time during weeks 7 and 8. Not the smartest move on my part, but it was my job and I was “doing what I had to do”. It was a loss, and something that was very different than the 3 years and 11 IUIs that simply never took when trying to have the boys. And it was a loss that many do not talk about, because of the embarrassment, shame, sadness, and feelings of failure tied to it. But oh, the collateral beauty that came from that loss that has forever shaped our lives in such an important domino effect.

A little back story… When we were finally pregnant with the twins, my wife admitted she was curious to know what that “surprise” feels like for spouses (yes, typically the males in the relationship) when the wife gets to surprise them with the news they are about to be parents. I had concocted this plan in my head that for the second pregnancy, I’d surprise her. Now, with IVF, it’s not that easy. Especially as the doctors need legal consent from both parents of the embryos, so she needed to sign documentation, but I knew if we could just “start the process”, I could work out the shots and appointments on my own. I had even convinced our dear friend, Ashlee Rollins, to help me with the surprise. She was excited to be my partner in crime.

But life has different plans. One week Ash and I were secretly planning expanding my family, and the next she was undergoing chemo treatments for a wretched diagnosis of Cancer. During a time I thought I’d be sneaking away for “coffee with Ashlee” to get the implementation of an embryo, I was going to a hospital to hold her hand and listen to a doctor tell her she needed to understand the severity of her diagnosis, as treatment was no longer working, and it was time to accept what was ahead. Within six months of first learning of the diagnosis, we lost our young, vibrant, care-free, dependable, loyal, and irreplaceable friend, only two days after she celebrated her 24th birthday.

After she passed, I gave up thinking I could surprise Steph, knowing Ashlee was irreplaceable in that form of assistance. When I lost the first baby after the twins, I think part of me was just too bitter about everything to believe happiness could come from that pregnancy. That’s a truly wretched thing to say, but it’s the truth. We were heartbroken, and a baby that comes into this world deserves parents with mended hearts, that are full of love and ready to be actively present for their children.

After time, both required in between tries for the pregnancy, but also to where I felt like I could handle trying again, Steph and I went for a second round of IVF. We were truly fortunate, as that one took, and our family would begin to grow. The irony was that this baby’s due date would be June 7… Ashlee’s birthday was June 11, and we lost her on June 13. Yes, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me prayed the baby would be late, and tied astrologically to our friend in some way, but also knew that the chances of that happening would be so slim.

That’s the thing about destiny though… this incredible little human’s fate was to be born in June, but she intended to be “ready when she was ready”, and couldn’t wait a day longer. Little Miss Alex (Alli) Rollins Young was born to us on June 4, 2018, at 11:59am, weighing in at 9lbs 12oz (girlfriend took ALL the room those twins left behind and then some). And as you can see here… the whole family fell in love with her immediately.

During the first year Alli was with us, it was so interesting to see how each twin took to her. Luca was trepidatious, always preceding with caution. Jack, however, constantly referred to her as “my baby”, was Mommy’s little helper, always grateful for a sibling who wanted this attention. Their bond was heartwarming beyond belief. As soon as Alex could crawl, she’d follow Jack everywhere. She knew to give Luca space, but any time Jack looked for her, she’d rush to be by his side, full of giggles that seem to be endless.

These days we can find Alex and Jack playing hide-and-seek behind the curtains, or racing through the living room chasing each other, their bond continuing to grow with such adoration. Equally, however, they each fight for my attention, as Alli tends to observe all of Jack’s behaviors, repeating any she seems to deem worthy. They snuggle on the couch when they both first wake up, more mornings then I can count, and Alli will work every charming smile she can to snuggle beside him for a book before bed at night. There are days I look at them and think to myself, “oh to be loved like that, how that must feel for each of them.” And for a while, this thought would make my heart smile, and hurt in tandem, as I watched our other child watch the experience happen for his siblings, but not for himself.

Recently, however, Luca has let her play. Even when working his lines, and in his comforting and calm little world, he will allow her in. You’ll see her barrel her way toward him, anxious to see what he is so fixated on. Had she been Jack, looking to play with anything he’s playing with, we would immediately redirect Jack away to something “more exciting”, but with Alex, we let her use her magic as far as Luca will let her, before it upsets him. We know when Luca isn’t interested in her touching, as he’ll yell “buh-bye, see you later!”, or “help”, meaning he’s heartedly focused and cannot allow her disruption. But often, he’ll even let her disrupt his lines, holding back his frustration and the pain it’s causing him, just to be patient with her and let her explore. It’s like he is showing her his love for her, by letting her in his bubble, despite how painful it is for him. (Below is an early morning in the playroom, when Luca was busy forming a line of all his birds, and Alex was determined to insert herself in his world. He allowed her to play with the toys, sit near him, and even take a few birds from those he had sorted out from all the figurines in his mixed box to choose from.)

And then, just a few weeks ago, Luca began to seek her out when she entered a room, to say “Hi!” If he was awake before she was, and I was bringing her down from her crib, he’d rush to the entry gate and make direct eye contact (big deal for us) and yell “HI!!!” waving his hands at her, before turning to go back to whatever he was doing. Every night since it began, when she comes home with Mama from her day at school, he rushes to the garage door with a “Hi, how are you” automatic response, connecting eyes, and then going back to his iPad. He’s even let her lay beside him in bed during story time, a few nights when Jack has fallen asleep before his siblings, and Alex is desperate to hang in her big brothers’ room before going to her room where no other companions sleep. And lately, when we tell Alli to give everyone “love” before nap, he’ll hear the reference, and look for his sister to make sure he’s included in the rounds of kisses and snuggles she intentionally spreads around the room. His arms may not make it around her, but he will allow her to hug him, which in itself is such an area of growth.

This may seem insignificant compared to the clearly connected images you see between Jack and Alli, but this is simply incredible, and what inspired this post about the power of siblings.

Yes, Jack’s smiling face here is during a really fun play time with his sister. They were rolling around the floor laughing and wrestling, having the best time on a random Saturday morning while Luca played with his dinosaurs by himself less than 4 feet away. This pure joy she gives him is something no one else could, and something he was desperately wishing for from Luca. He has someone who is looking up to him, following his lead, naturally letting him help her and love her and need her for the rest of his life. She hugs him regularly, and gives him kisses every night before bed. She squeals elatedly when he enters a room unexpectedly, looking just for her. Their love for one another is like two pieces to a puzzle that could not function without another. It’s truly adorable.

The thing that I think, however, is that Luca is smiling too. Maybe he won’t pose for a photo in the moment. Maybe he won’t wrestle her, or cuddle her on the couch, or even give her the kisses that Jack so sweetly will when she’s fallen and hurt herself. But Luca, looking for eye contact, wanting to greet her when she enters a room, that to me is his heart smiling. She’s pulling out his need to be needed by her, and his want to be important to her. While he played with his dinosaurs only 4 feet from his siblings, he was singing the sweetest song. He played so contently, that the noise of the two playing without him did not seem to phase him (keep in mind it normally would).

Naturally an introvert, as his parents we often try to not bother him, but what we’ve seen lately around his work to be present around her, makes us realize that maybe he doesn’t actually want to be an introvert. Maybe he just needs to practice the interaction to determine if he likes/wants/needs it. His teachers have noticed that he’s even begun to demonstrate a similar behavior with classmates. Looking to comfort a friend when they are in pain, make eye contact with a warm greeting when he sees them, and even play with particularly chosen mates on the playground each day at recess. Something has awakened inside of him where he wants to be noticed, and isn’t afraid to be known. I think this has stemmed from the little girl who is slowly stealing his heart, because she isn’t going anywhere, and he was forced to fall-in love with her fearless need to simply be part of his world.

One key thing that our kids have taught me this year, watching them accept/approve and enjoy their siblings, that is there is a special power being brought into this world with other humans who are allowed to love you before they know any better - during all your innocence and learning. Yes, all relationships are different, and require effort, a give-and-take, and real work. But the sibling relationship, in my opinion, is how you learn how to be something to someone. They aren’t your parent, or an adult/elder/teacher/babysitter that requires your attention, respect, and obedience. They are your equal, your friend, your fellow “little”. They are whatever you let them to be. And like all great relationships, yes, some people are in your life simply for what you need them to be in that moment, but some people become those who define who you were, who you are, and who you will become.

Luca might be learning from Alex, things he was never willing or open to learn from Jack, but Alex will learn things from Luca that she could never learn from Jack as well. She’ll learn things from both of her brothers about the power of kindness, patience, understanding and respecting diversity, and loyalty. The life lessons they will each learn from each other they would not be able to learn in such magnitude from anyone else.

It’s true, what I admitted, that I’m not sure we would have had more kids had we known about the diagnosis prior to getting pregnant, because as parents we are beyond committed to our children, and littles are a stretch of emotional/intellectual/physical/financial means to raise as it begins with. But I could not be more grateful for the timing of our family bow, because I cannot imagine our life without her in it. If you’re parenting autism and questioning how siblings may feed new/additional challenges into the mix, or even just wondering if your neurotypical children who are so easy as a singleton would benefit from having a sibling, my only advice is to listen to your heart and let fate do it’s thing. Even on our hardest days juggling all three kids under the age of five, I still wouldn’t trade it for the world.

*Differently Wired: Taken from the INCREDIBLE Deborah Reder, author of “Differently Wired: Raising an Exceptional Child in a Conventional World”, is my favorite phrasing for the concept that our kids are part of “the one in five "differently wired" children with ADHD, dyslexia, giftedness, autism, anxiety, or other neurodifferences”. If you haven’t read it, and are raising a differently wired child, I highly suggest it! https://www.amazon.com/Differently-Wired-Aspergers-Giftedness-Disabilities/dp/1523506318/ref=sr_1_2?hvadid=78202832398504&hvbmt=be&hvdev=c&hvqmt=e&keywords=differently+wired&qid=1580762296&sr=8-2

PS: I’d be remiss to not share that I am the older sister to three of the most talented, driven, unique, and incredible human beings I could ever know. Each is extremely different, but ridiculously similar. They’ve shaped my past, defining every moment of my childhood in a way no other could; they are a pulse on my present, particularly in how I look to parent my children as I see their faces, demeanors, and characteristics in each of my children; and they will be a compass on my future, always keeping me on track but inspiring me and pushing me to move forward at all times.