Muscle Memory

CONFESSION: I’m hiding in my office. 

The lights are out so they won’t know I’m in here.

I can hear my sweet Jack telling our nanny about how great his day was while Luca chomps away at his snack of very crunchy veggie sticks.

I listen as Jack shares the details of his day, and although my heart is full that he can be so well-behaved and polite for her, my heart also hurts because I’m hiding in my office, with the lights off and the music low.

I’m hiding so he won’t see me.

I’m hiding because if he does see me, his polite manners that he’s practicing for Ms. S. will turn into whines for me and screams of meanness towards her.

No exaggeration.

Our Jack is the sweetest love bug you’ve ever met. 

He’ll grab your cheeks and say “Cute, cute, cute…” in a way that makes you melt and feel so loved. 

He’ll blink his long dark eyelashes over those adorable almond shape eyes, making you forget what he asked for and simply say “of course, my love, I’ll buy you some ridiculously overpriced you-tube endorsed toy that I can only find on e-bay.” 

Jack doesn’t fit your typically known mold of autism like Luca does. 

He does not line his toys up around the house. 

He has found the words that were missing at 18 months, and will have a full conversation with you, spouting them out with the cutest lisp from the two teeth that went missing six months ago. 

Jack will give you love, all day, every day, if you let him. If you are in his bubble, he will shower you with affection in the most contradicting way to what is known about certain ends of the autism spectrum.

Where Jack’s autism shows up is in moments like this morning, where just the change of Mama coming to help put him on the bus took all the confidence of the 5-year-old pro who has sprinted proudly onto those steps of the yellow chariot the last three days, into scared and frozen feet that had to be carried up the stairs as he was paralyzed in tear-streaming anxiety.

Jack struggles with transitions in a way that if something does not go as planned, a full-blown meltdown can ensue, where our boy simply cannot get a hold of himself. 

Our sweet boy will be brought to the floor in a roller coaster of emotions that to some would seem like a ridiculous tantrum - dramatic in nature and unnecessary. 

What we’ve learned is that when moments like this happen, he does not have the wiring to simply T-swizzle the moment and “shake it off”. He needs time, and the understanding to let the rollercoaster happen until it’s come to the roaring stop, and he can get off and return to the moment it left him in.

Jack’s magic is that he can feel things in such an intense way, but as he’s so young, he’s yet to master that magic. Where he’s so differently wired, the disconnect between understanding how to “just get over it” versus “it’s the end of the world as we know it”, is present. 

Each time it happens, I work with him to breathe through it, and to find a way to ground himself in the facts - something our last incredible nanny, Ms. K., taught us. We calmly explain, when he’s ready to listen, what’s real about a situation, so that he can learn to understand a situation better through what he knows about it, versus just what he feels about it.

The last three days when he got off the bus, and I stood there with Ms. S., he yelled and said how he hated her, and cried as he clung to my leg asking for her to go home. Yet, after we settled him, got food in his belly, and were able to remind him that he actually enjoyed his time with her, he opened up to her each time, asking to play. 

So today, I hid in my office when they got off the bus. I was ready to sprint down our long driveway incase he refused to get off the bus for her, but as I listened to him telling her about his day when he got off, like this was the normal and acceptable behavior of the afternoon, the bus driving off in the distance, I ran in my office and hid. 

Hiding allows him to build the muscle memory to know that he is safe with Ms. S., that it’s ok to feel safe with someone other than me, and provides a meltdown free afternoon until I re-appear.

If this situation feels familiar to you, perhaps your child merely suffers from separation anxiety, not finding themselves on the spectrum where this behavior is so amplified, I see you. I am you. You are not alone.

One of Jack’s teachers told me when I expressed concerns about his meltdowns that kids who are on their best behavior with others, but turn into emotional messes the moment they are with their person (whoever that person is) simply means that they feel safe enough to be their worst version of themselves while they are working to learn how to be their best. 

Remember: It takes time to build muscle memory. You are not a bad parent because your child can be a monster, overly dramatic, or completely ridiculous only around you. You’re doing an amazing job giving them the safe space to be their worst version, so they can learn how to be their best. Keep doing what you’re doing. Of course, with the permission to hide when necessary.

XO

The Artist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, it’s the circle of life.

Xo

The LOVE in the lines...

This morning, one of Luca’s beloved bird figurines had an accident.

Unsure of exactly what happened, my wife and I threw ourselves into triage mode when he ran to us panic-stricken over a very small broken plastic beak. The tortured expression of complete agony that filled his face was unbearable.

At first, I attempted to use clear tape, the smallest piece needed, telling him it was a bandaid, but it only made him cry harder for his friend.

Steph then ran and grabbed the quick drying plastic glue, and clamped the two very small pieces together in the hopes it would dry quickly while I worked to distract Luca. I took him around the house quietly singing him songs, working to calm him down, reassuring him his friend would be ok.

Alas, the glue did not work, and our poor boy exhausted himself, distraught that he had failed one of his birds, and that we, his parents, could not fix him. We hid the broken bird, and took him to the living room with his favorite candy, putting on his favorite movie, and held him until he forgot about it. Forgot about it for now, that is, as his memory is beyond compare. He will remember it, at which point, we’ll have to navigate that reality.

We’ve been in this situation once before. While on vacation in Provincetown this summer, we had been on our way back on a walk into town, and he was playing with one of his Superwing toys. As he let it fly through the air while he sat on my shoulders, a bounce in my step made him lose his grip. Destiny had other plans as that little friend dropped to it’s demise, and right down a drain.

Only two blocks from the house we were staying, I held him tightly as he thrashed in my arms, running back to the house to try to find a distraction to help calm him down. Incredibly upset, he yanked at my hair, scratched at my face, and did everything he could to escape my grip and run back to save his toy.

When we made it into the house, where Steph had been getting some work done while the baby slept, we quickly explained the situation. While she tried to comfort him, I went to the toy room where the rest of the Superwings toys were, took out the duplicate of Dizzy, and tried to hand it to him, showing him there was another one - so not to worry!

My wife, unlike myself, is much faster on her feet with this kind of thing. She shook her head at me, to which I hid the duplicate. She got down on his level, took his hands into hers, and locked eye contact with the sad face who’s tears were streaming faster than ever before. She said to him, holding his hands tight, “Is Dizzy in the drain?”, to which he nodded his head up and down. With great certainty, she then promised him, “I’ll go get Dizzy”.

She gave Luca to me, while sneaking the extra Dizzy from my hands, and rushed out the door. Following her lead, we guided Luca to the large bay window, so he could watch his Momma run toward where he had lost his friend, and disappear behind a hedge. He began to panic again, when he couldn’t see her, crying and thrashing, until after a few minutes that I’m sure felt like a lifetime to him, she reappeared holding the exact same friend he had lost down the drain. She held him tall in the air, her arm outstretched so he could see it, beaming with pride to show him that all was alright.

As soon as she entered the house, he grasped the airplane, calmed his breathing, and brought it back to where the rest of his collection remained, so he could line them up, and bring order back to the chaotic being he was living as for the last exhausting adventure.

Not going to lie… after we knew he was settled, I definitely looked at my wife and sarcastically said, “Feel like the hero?” to which she did her sassy shrug and strutted to meet him in the living room to sit by her son, basking in the glory of fixing a situation I couldn’t.

The thing about this need for lines that I’ve learned from both of these experiences, is that it’s not about the line itself. There is LOVE in the lines that Luca, and children like Luca, create. There is time and attention to the way they each create their lines. There is tender care taken for each individual toy placed in the line. Luca will often study each toy chosen in his line to fully understand it - almost as if to see it not only for what it is, but for what it could be, as part of this greater picture he’s about to create.

What may seem silly to some, about the need to line everything up, to our boy, is respect for his things, and the beauty he sees in the collection of them as a whole. The angst and torture he feels when one is lost or damaged is heart breaking. It is not just a toy, but HIS toy, and the way he feels responsibility for it is beyond admirable.

My hope is the next time you see the lines… this perspective helps you to see the love in them, the way Luca reminds us each day, the every thing, no matter how small or insignificant to someone else, could mean the world to someone you care about.