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

How Parents Are Made

How Parents Are Made

“Children with special needs aren’t sent to special parents, they make parents special.”

When that powerful quote found its way onto my social media feed, I caught my breath. In the similar way to how Shonda Rhimes resonates every Thursday night in her opening and closing lines of each Grey’s Anatomy episode, it challenged me.

Since the twins’ diagnosis, I’ve settled on the mentality that we were given this family, because Steph and I could be to them what someone else couldn’t. I’ve cringed at my poor parenting, and picked up pieces of my broken heart during the really hard moments of COVID-19, and all the chaos it’s ensued on their diagnosis that catch me when I’m too tired or too frustrated to be the best version of myself. The last few days, in particular, in dealing with the loss of my Nana, has left me emotionally spent, with very little energy available for anything else.

I have questioned a million times over the saying “you are only given what you can handle”, and used it to comfort the exhaustion away, with some naive hope that we were special and chosen for our kids because we had the patience, kindness and life experience that would make us exactly what they needed; exactly what our magical children deserved as they navigated life with the autism diagnosis.

And then the coin flipped.

What if we weren’t here for them, but they were sent for us? What if they were gifted to us to make us better people, make us more patient, more kind, and provide the life experience in raising them that we will ultimately need for something bigger in this life? 

This last week has been tough in our journey with autism, particularly in managing the constant behavioral outbursts. Not only are they boys, but add the twin factor, and the little sense of remorse Luca feels (currently), with every weight of remorse that Jack feels (hopefully only currently as well) and it’s been a non-stop fist fight for days. I will say, Luca has a serious potential career in baseball- as he can nail his brother in the face, every time, with his water bottle, from as far as 10 feet away. But last night, he decided to give his sister a try, while she was just sitting there watching TV, and the bruise is still fresh on her cheek.

When we try to talk to him about it, he scripts an “I’m sorry” and goes back to his business, without any explanation of why the behavior happened, or indication on how to redirect it (or even intercept it) in the future. I keep going back to remembering that all behavior is communication, but I can’t figure out the lesson in this. And just when I was finding comfort in the expansion of his vocabulary through the great work happening at his school, life got paused for the world, and I now worry that my lack of teaching experience will cause a regression in our sweet boy’s progress. I worry that my own inability to muster the energy he needs, that he used to get from a one-on-one presence in his aid, for an entire school day, where he was tended to, challenged, inspired, loved and entertained by, will make him angrier as each day goes by.

As I watch our daughter during quarantine, who takes her naps without fuss, plays joyfully with Jack in between them, eats anything (and everything) out of the pantry and fridge, and is more than content to cuddle up to a movie on the couch, I let that concept of children gifted to their parents sink in. If we ever needed to believe that we were decent parents and had any chance of being what our twins need for the next however many decades we are blessed with them, Alex gives us that reassurance hourly.

Because, if I’m being honest, on the really hard days especially lately during quarantine in COVID-19, a parent to a special needs child could be asking themselves, “what did I do to deserve this?” I know I have. Especially at 1am, when Luca is having another sleepless night with autism, and in his frustration he’s kicked me so hard in the face I know I’ll have a decent shiner the next morning. Despite whatever pity party my small violins start to play, they are always followed by the sad question of: “what did this beautiful, sweet boy do to deserve feeling like his only resort to communication is to fist fight or hurt someone until they understood what he was feeling?” 

I hope, dear reader, that as you read that statement you felt the humanity behind it. Because although those moments are few and far between, they are real, and they are something that I know I’m not alone in feeling. If I am to share our journey with you, I need you to see all of it. And maybe, by my sharing, it can help someone else to understand from my perspective they didn’t already have. 

For every moment our life gets so hard that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I question if I can keep going, or that I start to question why I was chosen for this, I have 1,000 more moments of joy, and completely rewarding love, and a reminder that I am worthy. Parenting, and every moment of it, is a gift. Parenting during COVID-19, however, is an even greater gift. Because during these unprecedented times we have to parent at a whole other level. Even though I know it’s a gift, and completely worth it, I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t admit to wanting to quit on the daily lately.

Many parents are being asked to work full-time jobs from their homes while ensuring their children don’t fall behind in school. Parents like ourselves, who have littles with special needs, are being asked to find greater patience, greater understanding, and quite frankly, a greater sense of fun to keep each day and every day healthy, safe, and open to learning for their littles.

I didn’t sign up for this. Despite being on every possible wait list for ABA services in the home, I hadn’t found time to apply for social security for the boys, which I was told would be the only way I’d ever get to the front of the list to get help, because I knew the incredible team that was working for them at school was killing it, so social security fell low on the priority list. I had no way to know that we’d be quarantined with returning to school a dream far off in the long distance future. We’re not even sure if they’ll get to go to summer school, or what will happen this fall if we get another wave of this. Even as I type this, the weight of my anxiety sits in my chest and it’s suffocating, knowing that in my email inbox is a letter from the school asking that I wave the state requirement for our kids to get the services they need- because during a state of emergency they cannot provide them at this time.

Staying solution-oriented, the only perspective I need to have is to just keep going. My family is healthy. We have an incredible nanny who is helping every day, which is leading to proactively stopping Luca’s aggression at least 50% more than I can on my own, resulting in 50% less chances of injuries that put our family needing to go to the ER. The kids are loved and cared for and safe. 

If I adjust my understanding from that we’re not given more than we can handle, to the idea that every test of the last few weeks, and last four years since we became parents, are lessons and opportunities to learn how to be a better parent, inevitably being able to handle more adversity, change and growth, then maybe COVID-19 won’t seem like a nightmare of a running a marathon I didn’t train for. Maybe adapting the student perspective, believing that every behavior is communication, turning on those listening ears I keep begging Jack to make sure are working on his head - maybe then this will start to feel more like the training piece… the starting from scratch, learning how to use my muscles to work for me, listening to what they need as they train for the many miles ahead… sharing stories with strangers to help pass the time, making life-long friends from the similar terrain we run together… maybe then, this will just be an introduction to the beautiful adventure ahead - the one where the finish line isn’t why you started running in the first place.

Every child is magical in their own way, unique and different and bound to be incredible humans one day. But those on the autism spectrum, as they dance outside the circle a neurotypical child typically operates within, showcases focused areas of attention where their magic can truly shine. Where there may be areas of learning that do not come naturally to them, it leaves room for the areas they truly care about, and due to that extra space of interest and excitement, can teach you things you may never have known before.

For my fellow marathon runners on this new terrain of parenting, remember to keep eyes ahead, breath through the tough moments where your body tells you want to quit, and rely on that muscle memory built from love, sweat and tears… If you need someone to run a few miles with, I’m here… with stories to distract you, and working listening ears at your disposal, for as long as the pavement lies ahead. You’ve got this. 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!

The Weight of Anxiety

I read something today while scrolling social media, that mocked those having anxiety about COVID-19, saying they were giving weight to something weightless… 

It stuck with me in a way where I just can’t let it go. I know I normally discuss our journey with autism here, but I would find it hard pressed to find a parent of autism who doesn’t deal with some kind of anxiety. Since my goal with this blog is to share our story in case it helps someone, anyone else, I thought it might be time to own this one.

I’ve dealt with anxiety for what feels like my entire life. It’s appeared in all different shapes and sizes, and I’m not really sure how best to describe it, so bear with me as I try.

What is anxiety?

It’s a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.

What does it feel like?

For me, I feel my entire body get tight. I get incredibly tense, from my legs, to my arms and chest, and can even feel it in my head. Because my chest tightens, it can be hard to breath, and as my forehead feels the stress, it can easily cause a headache and be hard to think straight.

What causes it?

For me, the common causes of my anxiety lie in when I feel out of control, feel as if I’m being or could be judged, and when I’m letting someone down, in some way, or worst - myself. When it happens, I find myself to become truly dramatic, where the situation feels like the end of the world, despite that I can be a very practical and realistic person.

How do I act during it?

I get defensive about anything and everything. I immediately feel like everything is my fault, and that there is no way I can be enough. I get irrationally upset, or unreasonably sad. I turn into someone that is unrecognizable to the people who know me, as I’m simply the worst version of myself. And then, when it passes, I’m back to normal. What’s hard is that in the moment, it’s like I can’t manage it, because it completely takes over me. Afterwards, I sit in the reality and shame of it, knowing it’s not a place I want to live in. 

How do I manage it?

I’ve learned both healthy and unhealthy ways to manage and cope with my anxiety. Some of the unhealthy ways tend to represent numbing of sorts. When I was younger I’d go out and drink or party with friends, occasionally smoke cigarettes. Lately, since I grew up, got married, and had babies, half a glass of wine can make me pass out before 8pm, so now, I eat my feelings. I’m a sucker for all things cake-like, but particularly whoopie-pies and those darn frozen nutella sandwiches. (Not healthy- and not helping the constant fear I’ll be judged for the mom bod I try to hide in compression yoga pants- but I’m just trying to get by here ya’ll.)

Healthier alternatives that work for me? Six months ago, when I felt like my anxiety was at its peak, I searched for a local therapist - who I love - and have been seeing her regularly ever since because it’s giving me the tools I need to deal with, deter, and diminish the anxiety. When I was younger, right out of college, I realized how much running truly helped my anxiety. Pumping those natural endorphins through my body let me run out my stress. These days, I can’t even find time to do a 30 minute work-out. But the days I can do it, I notice a sincere difference in how I feel. 

Because I can’t always find time to work out right now the way I’d like, and a personal goal this year was to find both physical and mental wellness, I started seeing an amazing therapist 6 months ago and it’s really helping me. If you can’t find time to get out of the house, particularly during social distancing, many therapists are participating in televisits where you can connect either by virtual video experience, or even over the phone. I cannot recommend this enough.

The Weight of Anxiety 

The weight of my anxiety comes from feeling the responsibility to take care of a messy playroom, or laundry that’s exploded over my bedroom, or a refrigerator of food laughing at me because it knows the twins won’t eat anything in it. The heaviness of it lives in late nights working on operation management for my wife’s company, after long days of childcare and working full time at my other job, aware that I could be getting up just hours after finally going to bed, with a twin who can’t sleep, when all I want to do is rest before getting up to do it all over again. The weight becomes unbearable when Luca has an aggressive episode because he still doesn’t have the words to communicate what’s wrong, hurting his siblings and/or us until he gets his point across, because it leaves me worrying about the day he is bigger than us, and if we can’t get him the tools he needs to deal with his feelings, I’m not sure we’ll know how to manage it. My anxiety particularly feels unmanageable during this uncertain time for our country when all leadership can ask is for our understanding and patience as they navigate the pandemic with uncertainty. 

The current state of what’s happening in today’s world is not weightless, especially for those who suffer from anxiety like I do. Although anxiety is invisible in nature, the weight of it shows on those who don’t wear it well. You can see it in the slump of their shoulders, or the pause in their pace; the worry in their forehead wrinkles, or the grip in the way they hold their hands in place. The behavioral baseline of those running from, or fully confronting anxiety can be different, but one thing is commonly found despite the stage of understanding/awareness/acceptance someone is in with it: lack of control of the unknown can feel paralyzing. 

My plan over the next few days, weeks, and months if needed, is to establish a routine for our family that allows us to operate in an expected manner which I can control. This doesn’t mean things won’t go awry - they do on an hourly basis in life, let alone when you are on a journey with autism. My hope is when they do decide to derail to the unplanned, that I can take each situation as it comes, and hope to put the caveat of “unprecedented times” where we are just “trying to survive” until we return to the recognizable every day, and find moments in that understanding to breath through whatever’s happening. 

Because I know what anxiety feels like in my body, when I am present in the moment, I can recognize it when it’s happening, and work to stop it before the weight of it becomes too much to bear. What does yours feel like? What does the weight of your anxiety feel like? Maybe the more we share, the less those who haven’t met anxiety, or someone working through it, will stop assuming we’re worrying for no reason. 

Ways You Can Support Someone with Anxiety

Typically spending time together is a really awesome way to help someone in need of a break, but with social distancing that’s not quite as easy. Here are some ideas that could still help: 

• Dance It Out (Virtually): Find your friend’s jam, Facetime and dance it out. Like I said, moving your body naturally produces endorphins and there’s science behind how this can help battle anxiety. If dancing isn’t your flavor (come on Grey’s Anatomy fans!) maybe yoga, or meditation together could work for you.

• Check-in: Text, email, call, Facetime, etc- Anything to let someone know they aren’t alone can help while social distancing.

• LISTEN: When you check-in, or if that person reaches out, the most important aspect is to listen. They aren’t asking you to fix it, but just to sit with them in it until they can breath again.

• Provide Laughter: Send a funny GIF, tell a silly knock-knock joke, share the thing that happened that day that is so ridiculous you couldn’t have written it for a comedy script, that makes someone laugh. Laughter helps you to breath. Put your funny pants on and make some magic happen. (Adding one of my favorite home videos below for your amusement purposes… please don’t judge our parenting. It was 5am and we were desperate.)

If you are like me, and feeling even the slightest bit anxious, remember this: we can’t control what we can’t control… but we can control what we can. Focus on the can. Find wins and reassurance in the everyday moments that you made possible to keep you grounded. And breathe. It’s so important to breathe. I’ll be right here breathing with you. We can do this, because this too shall pass. Xo

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.

Connection...

Connection…

Over the last few days, I’ve had Ryan Tedder’s words ring through my head… “Can I get a connection, can I get, can I get a connection… I can see it in my, see it in my reflection… Oh, can I get a connection?”

Ya’ll… we’re oversaturated in learning so much about the current pandemic of COVID19, that it’s hard to think about anything else. As humans who crave that human connection from others, social distancing is something that is scaring some into seclusion, while being ignored by others who aren’t giving it the weight of seriousness it deserves. As parents to autistic twins, one of which thrives from other social interaction, and one of which who could care less if he has it, we can see so many perspectives on the state of our country, and how it impacts our family, and those around us.

As I scroll through my social media feeds, I’m seeing the following…

Friends laid off because they can’t work as schools and public places are shut down. These same friends have families to provide for, and responsibilities to take care of - a heavy burden to bear while in this heightened state of anxiety while we watch the nation’s crisis unfold before our very eyes.

Friends doing the laying off because their organizations cannot withstand the financial hit the pandemic' and the quarantines it is requiring to stop the spread are causing. These friends are doing incredible good for our world, and did not wish to lay off the hard working employees who have given their organizations so much of their time, energy, and commitment.

Friends who work at our bars and restaurants, places where so many of us go to get away from our lives for a night, where someone else waits on us, answers our every request, provides us food and beverage, and often listen to our problems which are not theirs, just to make us feel better - who don’t know what the status of their crucial income will be during the quarantines.

Friends who are parents who are preparing for the home school that will need to happen during the two (or three in our case) week period where their children are home from school for quarantine; trying to understand how to best meet their needs for learning and routine and social interactions crucial to their continuing to grow, while working to earn a living that makes all of that possible for their children. We are in this boat.

Friends who work in our healthcare system, are first responders, and fire and police officers, risking the front lines each shift, to take care of those in need, protecting those who need protection, while aware of their heighten chance of exposure, and the chance they bring it home to their families.

And then I see the response the virus that isn’t serious, and I think about my friends that are listed above, dealing with how the pandemic is effecting their lives, who are also witnessing messaging that may feel like it’s downplaying said impact, or even worse, mocking it.

I’m not here to preach, each effected by the status of our current situation as a world is to deal with it however they can, in whatever way they need to. Hey, we have a son who laughs when he has hurt someone because he hasn’t learned how to deal with shame or regret. We understand first hand how everyone deals with emotions, and how they express them, differently.

All I’m saying is, as we look towards the ever important “connection”, particularly while our world is in crisis, that maybe we should be careful about what connections we are putting out there for any and all to reach.

An incredible human being - like seriously one of the best - named Nancy Lyons, for whom I have the utmost respect and admiration for, went live to Instagram yesterday, and her REALLY COOL company, Clockwork, gave a recap in this article about Social Distancing with Humanity, on ways we can provide connections to those who need it - without compromising others. Check out the list of really smart ways we can provide that connection we’re all craving, and add yours to the list!

Here are a few ways that we intend to connect over the next three weeks, as our children’s school was required to shut down until April 3, and it will require a new way of operating as a family until next month.

1.) ROUTINE CONNECTIONS

Our twins are on the spectrum, so they survive off of routine, but even their little sister Alex finds greater success each day when she knows what to expect (schedule-wise), what’s expected of her (behavior-wise), and when she will get the things she needs each day (food and rest) outside of the social interaction from peers. As we are under quarantine- social interaction in person is a hard stop- but, like we suggested for Clockwork’s list- Facetime play dates and check-ins are definitely something we can arrange, and have begun to do so. Whether it be virtual story-time, or a game of iSpy, there are different ways that we can use Facetime to feel like we are playing with friends without losing out on that in person connection gratification.

2.) NEW CONNECTIONS

I noticed on our town’s Facebook group, that the local senior center was requesting if kids wanted to be pen pals to their residents. My kids can’t write, but they LOVE to send video messages, particularly when singing Happy Birthday. I messaged their director, offering this, and am working to have them sing Happy Birthday in individual messages to anyone that might be celebrating a birthday but can’t have outside visitors.

3.) AVAILABLE CONNECTIONS

I’m going to rely on visual schedules, online guides to activities, pinterest boards for how to make something from nothing, and any resources their teachers provide to keep up with the twins IEPs in order to fill the kids days with on going learning and fun. The amazing @MrsRachelHollis preaches that you can learn ANYTHING with a google search bar and a growth mindset, so this month, I’m going to learn how to be what my kids need so that the learning does not stop, and that this doesn’t become a miserable experience for all of us. Hopefully, in that process, as I continue to gain appreciation for everything their amazing teachers and administrators are, I may gain additional appreciation for myself, and the ability to show up as the parent they need, during their time of need.

4.) PERSPECTIVE CONNECTIONS

This is going to give a LOT of quality time with my kids over the next month. My wife’s company will continue to operate in the homes that are willing, as her employees need the hours, but the majority of the time I’ll be with the three babes. These are moments I’d miss out on without this opportunity. This is a gift. Where some are looking at it as a disaster, I’m hoping considering this perspective will help change some of that. Yes, no one is saying this will be easy, and it’s SUPER easy to have perspective when you haven’t even hit day one yet, BUT as a reminder - there are too many parents who would give anything to get time with their kids like this. There are too many parents who have lost their children to difficult battles with fatal diseases, or tragic accidents, that would give ANYTHING to be forced into quarantine with their children for three weeks. This is a gift. A chance to know them better. A chance for them to know me better. A chance to roll up my sleeves, tackle this ABA thing, work through all my anxieties, and show up for my family. This is a gift, and one I am grateful for.

5.) HELPFUL CONNECTIONS

One of the best messages I’ve seen come across my feed, and have gone on to share, as well as watched friends then share from my feed, is the offer to help anyone who needs it. We do not have an endless supply of toilet paper or food, but we can easily share with those who need it. We may not be able to offer child care (because I’m still figuring out how to go solo for three kids, two with special needs) but we’re happy to be Facetime buddies with your kids to help with boredom or joint home school lesson planning. We may not have hours on end to help a neighbor with all their errands, but we could easily find coverage for an hour or two to ensure they have the groceries and medicine they need by running to the store for them and dropping the items off if they are unable. And for those friends suffering from anxiety like I do, or working through something they just need someone to talk with about, but can’t make it to a licensed therapist during quarantine- by no means do I have a license, but I do have air pods, and a great sense of empathy from experience, and would be happy to be your listening ears at your time of need.

6.) SELFISH CONNECTIONS

You better believe that even though I can’t typically make it to my awesome local Mom’s group’s MOM’S NIGHT OUT, that I will be FRONT AND CENTER with a big glass of wine, for the virtual version later this week. I even offered to figure out what tool we should use to make it possible. Because THAT will be a connection where I can vent, laugh, probably cry, and relate to my peers in a really healthy selfish way. Counting down the days ladies. Counting down the days…

Think about these connections as you are sharing things on social media. We’re all scrolling like crazy. Remember the friends I spoke for earlier in this post. And maybe, post with greater grace and understanding for those this impacts, even if you feel like you aren’t one of them…

So, Can I get a connection?… xo

He'll Make Friends Anywhere...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Struggle Is Real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is your work out.

This is your more than you can handle.

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

Because it’s not about if you quit. 

It’s not about if you give up.

It’s not about if the straw breaks you.

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

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

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

There is always a way...

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

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

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

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

You’ve got this. Xo

What is an Autism Diagnosis?

What is an Autism Diagnosis?

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

For us, the autism diagnosis has been a gift. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, Family!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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