by Annie | Nov 4, 2022 | Blog
Two years. Thirty craniosacral appointments give or take a few. More than fifty seven hundred miles driven.
Worth every mile, every minute in the car, every dime spent. Worth all of it. Craniosacral therapy has without a doubt changed our lives.
In the height of Max’s sensory journey, he was having meltdowns that could only be described as colossal. We couldn’t always pinpoint the root cause and with very little speech, he couldn’t tell us. They were taxing for all of us. Mostly, though, we felt horrible for him. Sometimes the only thing that would work to calm him was strapping him in his car seat and taking him for a long ride. And even then it could be an hour before he’d find his calm. I’ve honestly blocked out much of that stressful time in our lives.
In the summer of 2020 we were on a hike with friends, one of the only ways we could connect with our people during pandemic times. Max was in his favorite spot – snug in our hiking backpack perched high on his mama, feeling and loving the warm breeze on his face. After a while, it was clear he wanted to venture out of the backpack (which was rare!). We were thrilled! He explored, climbed with help and ran. But things took a dramatic turn when I wouldn’t let him walk right into the rumbling river. He absolutely melted, almost crawling right out of my arms multiple times. My friend stayed with me while our spouses and the other littles kept hiking. She made an observation that hadn’t occurred to me – but was absolutely true. After I wrestled Max and hiked with a screaming, squirming toddler back up to the van and got him safely buckled in, I took a deep breath, completely exhausted, sweaty and thankful that Anna Marie had stayed with me despite me telling her I would be fine. We started to chat and she said “it was almost as if he was trying to crawl back up inside of you.”
And he absolutely was. Being on the receiving end of his meltdowns I hadn’t realized what was happening, but his major meltdowns all resulted in him trying to get back to the place he remembered as being the safest, calmest and most quiet…the womb.
I mentioned this to our team of two occupational therapists who specialize in therapeutic listening and my aunt who has been a tremendous guide and advocate on this journey with both boys. They discussed for a bit and then Aunt Kate suggested that we try craniosacral therapy with her friend who was affectionately called the “baby whisperer.”
We knew nothing about craniosacral therapy (a gentle hands-on technique that uses a light touch to examine membranes and movement of the fluids in and around the central nervous system. Relieving tension in the central nervous system promotes a feeling of well-being by eliminating pain and boosting health and immunity), but were willing to trust the process and try anything at that point. Our boy was struggling and so were we.
We drove a little over an hour for the appointment in early November that year. We were anxious and nervous – so much that it was palpable. When we arrived at her office, we encountered the most lovely occupational therapist who specializes in craniosacral therapy – she was kind, unassuming and grandmotherly like hot cocoa and chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven. We immediately felt at ease.
She explained that Max would be experiencing somewhat of a “rebirth” that day. A what?! The work she would be doing would compensate for what he missed by not traveling through the birth canal as a result of being breech and then consequently born via c-section.
First step was the hyoid. The hyoid is the bony structure that surrounds your trachea. She checked Max and his hyoid was up too high which was forcing his jaw and tongue forward and causing a reverse swallow (at almost 3, this was the first we had heard of such a thing!). She adjusted his hyoid and put it back where it belonged and then she checked Mike and me for the same issue. Low and behold, our hyoids were both out of place too. With a quick adjustment she clicked them back into place and we could both feel a difference in our swallowing. Crazy, right?
So here’s where this gets really wild. Max would stick his tongue out of his mouth constantly his first year of life. We thought it was cute at the time – his signature look. But now looking back, he was likely doing that because his hyoid was out of place and pushing everything forward. That made us wonder if his hyoid being out of place had contributed to his difficulty with drinking from a cup and his speech development. It’s entirely possible.
Then she adjusted his upper spine, neck and head. He cried a cry we had never heard before. It wasn’t one of pain – maybe relief? He had a little time to organize around the work she had done and then we packed Max back in the car for our drive home. We were struck by his willingness to give his new therapist a high five and a wave goodbye. He didn’t do that very often to people he knew well, much less someone he had just met. And then he proceeded to babble all the way home. Also completely uncharacteristic. We were hopeful, certainly. But had no idea what this new-to-us therapy would mean in the long run.
We were eager to go back for another appointment a month later and brought Fletcher, too . His experience was a little different but no less impactful. After simply placing her hands on Fletcher’s head and by his ears, Mary asked if he had difficulty with auditory processing. We replied with a synchronous “YES!” That had been a huge challenge for him for a long time and the area of sensory processing that he struggles with the most – even after a few years of occupational therapy. We were amazed that she could identify that. She paid special attention to his upper back, neck, head, ears and eyes that day. His ears required a particularly intense “untwisting” of sorts. Fletch still asks her if an adjustment is “going to be a big one” like he experienced that day. She’s amazing with the way she relates to littles and prepares them for what’s coming.
On the way home from our session with both boys, Max was crying in the car. The high pitch of his cries was one of Fletcher’s biggest auditory triggers. Except not that day. He realized Max was crying and then exclaimed “Mom! My EARS! They don’t hurt! And Max is crying!”
Mike and I looked at each other in disbelief. What was normally an anxiety inducing experience for all of us….wasn’t. If we hadn’t been believers in craniosacral therapy before (which we were), we most certainly would have been then.
Fast forward two years. Here’s how craniosacral therapy has forever changed us…
- In just a few sessions, Max went from gravitationally insecure to having a much better idea of where he was in space. Before we started craniosacral therapy, Max wanted to be carried all the time. I wore him in a backpack or baby carrier almost constantly and he would frequently put me between him and anything that felt overwhelming. He was also incredibly unsteady on his feet. Now, Max walks and runs, climbs, goes down the slide and now understands the enjoyment of exploring and experiencing life on his own terms. His general quality of life has increased immensely.
- Shoes. From age two until he turned 3, Max refused footwear. Now we know it was because the only way he felt secure was to have his bare feet directly on the earth. It was grounding for him, a way to know he was safe and stable. After a few craniosacral appointments, he started to better grasp where his body was in space. We were able to put soft bottomed moccasins on him and then eventually graduate to hard soled shoes. He still doesn’t LOVE having his feet covered, as having his bare feet squeezed is a huge part of his sensory input, but he will wear shoes when he needs to. A huge win.
- Headaches. Max had Chiari decompression surgery in late April of this year which is brain surgery. We didn’t realize that he had a chiari 1 malformation previously, nor did we understand that he probably lived the majority of his little life with intense headaches. We are certain that craniosacral therapy helped relieve that pressure for him prior to his surgery. Looking back, we’re so glad he was getting relief, even when we didn’t realize he was in so much pain.
- Fletcher recognizes the ways that craniosacral therapy helps him. His awareness is staggering. He can tell when it’s time for a session with our beloved Mary and chats with her while she’s working on him like they’re old friends. It has become a part of his therapy repertoire – his big giant sensory toolbox.
- Both of our boys are able to identify where they need our therapist to work her magic. Max now walks into her office and places her hands where he needs a release the most. It’s fascinating and to be honest, gives us so much hope. What he may lack in verbal communication he more than makes up for in the unique and innovative ways he finds to communicate his needs. There’s a wisdom about the way he does so with Mary and we feel privileged to witness it.
- Mike and I now receive craniosacral therapy, too. Mary pinpoints what areas are tight and gives our bodies tune-ups when we visit. The physical implications are wonderful and provide a shared experience for all four of us – one we can all relate to. As parents who often encounter stress and anxiety (and let’s be honest, dysregulation of our own) along our journey, this type of therapy brings a warmth and grounding that we didn’t realize we needed. We leave feeling nurtured, cared for and supported.
- The central nervous system isn’t talked about much at a lay person level when it comes to navigating the sensory needs of children. At least that hasn’t been our experience. What we have learned the last few years is that when we take care of our respective central nervous systems, whether it be through craniosacral therapy, meditation, yoga, breathing exercises or by other means, life is generally calmer and easier for all of us.
We’d recommend craniosacral therapy for absolutely anyone, but especially littles (and adults) struggling with sensory dysregulation. As with any therapy, what’s almost as important as the type of therapy is the actual therapist. You’re looking for a therapist who comes with experience, the ability to relate to and connect with whomever is receiving the therapy, and uses intuition as their guide. Our therapist is an occupational therapist by trade. I’ve also known massage therapists certified in craniosacral. Ideally you’d find someone with experience serving children who can meet them where they are and has a deep understanding of the ways sensory dysregulation can impact the human experience.
Our therapist makes such a difference for us that we’re willing to drive 90 miles one way once or twice a month. She’s that good. If craniosacral therapy sounds like a good fit for your family, I hope that you can find someone like that. <3
by Annie | Nov 2, 2022 | Blog
Parenting can be such a roller coaster. Like the extreme kind that takes you around twists and turns at 100 miles an hour followed by a slow climb just to drop you 75 feet with zero notice.
We’re struggling right now with Max using hitting as a way to express frustration and communicate when he doesn’t understand what’s expected of him. With a lack of verbal communication and a long journey to learning a complex communication device, I totally get why he’s frustrated. I’m frustrated with him.
He’s also four and a half and is asserting his independence anywhere he can. That part is very age appropriate. And let’s not forget that he had brian surgery six months ago to relieve pressure in his head caused by a Chiari 1 Malformation and is learning about life without headaches.
His hitting increased at school about a month ago, but so did the demands being placed on him. He had a really great start to the year. There were very few days where he cried at drop-off (maybe only one) and most days he walked right to his classroom to begin his morning routine.
I was starting to receive feedback almost daily about his hitting and kicking and general resistance to being engaged. After a conversation with one of his teachers the week of parent/teacher conferences I felt especially defeated. He is a very unique learner – very curious, routine-oriented and adept at facilitating his own learning. In many ways, he’s very “Montessori” in the way that he plays and learns which generally works for him. However, he also doesn’t fit the “typical” mold of that teaching philosophy, making it awfully tricky to figure out just where he “fits.”
Our conferences informed us that he was hitting more, wasn’t particularly interested in using his talker at school, was interacting with materials that weren’t intended for him, and repeatedly leaving the classroom unattended (we’re talking about a four year old walking down three flights of stairs, past the front door that leads to a busy street solo). While it wasn’t directly said, what I heard was that he wasn’t a good fit for that environment. I left the conversation reeling.
And in the matter of thirty minutes, this was my stream of thought…
“How do we make this work better for him? Do we request a review/revise of his IEP to increase his time in the special education setting and less time in a classroom with 30 kids?”
“I’m not convinced our district is equipped to create a learning environment that is optimal for the way Max learns. We’re clinging to individual teachers who seem to “get” him but is that sustainable?”
“Can we open enroll him to the district Mike works in so by high school they’ll be at the same school?” “That doesn’t really help us now.”
“Maybe we should open enroll him to the district 70 miles from here where a dear family friend will be working next year. With all of her experience supporting kids with unique needs, that could be a great option for him.”
“I’m just going to home school him. We have such a short window of time before school becomes negative and once that happens, we won’t get him back in any building. He learns best in the pool and in nature. We could base our learning in environments that eliminate the stimulation created by 30 other kids in a class. That would be better.”
“Why are we forcing this? He is 4. He doesn’t legally need to be in school right now! We could power through and work really hard to get him what he needs, but at what cost?”
And then before I realized it, I was crying out of feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. But also the unexpected reminder that our little guy isn’t a traditional learner and most definitely does not fit neatly into a traditional education system…. WHICH I would argue isn’t necessarily set up for most kids to succeed.
The next day, still deep in thought, I saw this beautiful tree standing out among the brush adorning the hill where it appeared. Gosh, what a metaphor for our sweet babe. He’s unapologetically bright, brilliant and bold. He doesn’t fit neatly in a mold because he always has and always will do things in a way that works for him. He’s not like anyone around him and certainly doesn’t blend in – that in itself is a gift.
Mike and I had a long chat. Initially we didn’t arrive at a guaranteed plan moving forward, but definitely weighed the pros and cons of each of my thoughts above along with others. The overall theme of our conversation was the fact that our baby is never going to be a traditional learner, he won’t be a traditional anything. And for that we’re grateful. Watching him grow and evolve is one of our greatest joys. It just gets hard when we encounter systems that weren’t set-up to help kids like Max thrive.
We had a review/revise meeting scheduled for the Tuesday following conferences. My aunt was going to observe Max in the school setting in the morning and join us with her expertise for the meeting. We were going to give the new plan until Christmas and then decide if we’d keep him in school or pull him out at semester. But by the day after conferences, after several conversations, we ultimately decided that a new plan in the existing system still wouldn’t give him the support he needed to thrive in the way we know he can. So we made calls that evening and the following day was his last.
I trusted my gut. All along it was telling me that we needed to pull him, to do a hard reset and set-up things at home in a way that help him strengthen the neuro pathways that support his verbal communication. There were voices telling us to wait, to give it time, etc. But we knew that while we had many things – time wasn’t one of them. We couldn’t risk school becoming a negative situation for Max, as that could have terrible implications for him down the line.
I’m reminded that sometimes as parents we feel content and satisfied with how our kids are being nurtured and developed when they’re not with us. And then in a matter of days or weeks all of that can change – no matter how much we respect and appreciate the other adults in their lives.
There are so many growing pains that come along with raising kids, especially those that have specific needs. The longer we’re on this journey, the more I’m learning to trust my instincts and use the resources we have in order to ensure the best possible outcomes for both of our kids. Sometimes that means challenging the systems in place. Sometimes that means having really difficult conversations. And sometimes it means acknowledging when something just simply isn’t working and fighting like hell to figure out what will.
I have a special education background and a lot of flexibility in my job. I know that positions us differently than many other families. I’m not at all suggesting that if school isn’t working for your child you should immediately pull them out, nor am I suggesting that figuring out how to do school at home is the only solution. What I’m emphasizing is the importance of being your child’s advocate, sticking up for your family and challenging existing systems that are old and antiquated and quite frankly ineffective for so many of our kids.
If you had asked me even a year ago if we’d be doing school at home for Max, I would’ve told you probably not. But here we are. I’m fumbling my way through the first two weeks with library story times, trips to the zoo and nature centers and creating organic learning experiences for Max wherever I can. But I’ll tell you that I haven’t had a single moment of regret.
Is it easy? Absolutely not. But it’s rewarding and a joy to be able to follow his lead even when it’s hard. I’m getting even more insight into who he is as a learner and trying to tweak the way we do things to meet him where he is. That way, if at some point he re-enters the traditional school setting, I’ll have even more of a road map to help set both Max and his educators up for success.
For now, as we navigate uncharted waters, I’ll continue to trust my gut. It’s the brightest, most reliable guiding light we have on this path that often feels dark and unfamiliar.
by Annie | Oct 28, 2022 | Blog
I’m writing because I honestly don’t know what else to do with my “big” feelings as we frequently call them and this journey sometimes requires an outlet.
First of all, I’ve been struck lately by all the good around us. We were shown incredible love during Max’s surgery in late April and that has carried us through. But I’ve taken notice of the little (but really big) ways people demonstrate love to us when least expected. Just this morning, Max and I were at the grocery store. He was really upset that the cashier was taking items out of our cart to scan them. Recognizing that Max was struggling, the cashier quietly called his colleague over to help him bag so they could get us on our way more quickly. It didn’t require a dramatic scene, he didn’t make a big deal out of it, he simply did it because he knew it would make things easier for us. And I noticed. I have countless other examples like that from just the last few weeks and I wish I could do more than just share a genuine “thank you” as I’m flying out the door to get Max settled.
None of these random acts of kindness, however, are quite at the level of what we experienced late yesterday afternoon.
I finished a different blog post while waiting for Fletcher at OT about making the decision to remove Max from school last week (which I’ll put up shortly) – one of the reasons was safety, as he was quietly leaving his classroom and walking down three flights of stairs by himself – past the front door which lead to a very busy street. We felt like it was just a matter of time before he realized he could push the doors open and get outside the walls of school. The thought of that was completely terrifying.
Ironically, while we were at Fletcher’s appointment, Max got the idea that he wanted to go to the park. He was being cared for by a dear family member who knows him well, loves him beyond measure and is very in tune with his needs. Max was moving around their house as he normally does. It’s essentially his home away from home and he’s very comfortable there. The back door was shut tight but not locked. He’d play in one room, pitter patter to the next, explore, maybe toss a rubber ducky into the bathroom toilet (that’s a new thing!), settle into the couch to watch a show, and do it all over again. When the movement became silent his caregiver thought Max was hiding. Efforts to call his name and search the house came up empty – he couldn’t be located.
Fletcher and I drove in the driveway shortly after. We searched the entire house together and outside – no luck. I decided to drive to the park nearby which Max loves – he is taken there frequently. When I got back in the car to drive the equivalent of three or four city blocks, I heard a police siren and then it abruptly stopped. My heart started to race. I drove one street over, took a quick right and saw a police car across the busy street along with two women…. And MAX.
I whipped into the nearby driveway, got out of the car and scooped Max up. He was hysterical. Not because he was scared necessarily, but because the folks protecting him were preventing him from going to his beloved park.
I learned that the two women had both stopped their cars on the busy road, got out, and ensured Max got to the sidewalk safely. They called the police and stayed with him until the police arrived. I can’t even bear the thought of all of the what ifs. We live in a city where reckless driving is rampant. I’m thanking my lucky stars that these women were driving down that road at the exact time we needed them.
They greeted me with such grace. They were so grateful Max was safe and that I was there. In the moment I didn’t even think to get their names or contact information, but you better believe I’ll be paying it forward. And the police officers were amazing, too. Max was less than thrilled that they were trying to keep him safe, but they handled it all with poise and understanding and no judgment. It was absolutely everything we needed. Kindness, grace, and genuine compassion.
Here’s the honest truth. This could’ve happened to any one of us. Max is with family (including us) 100% of the time. He’s nonverbal and very quiet, but wickedly smart. He is an adept nonverbal communicator and has a tenacious way of getting his needs met. Apparently even if it means walking himself to the park. We’re vigilant about locking doors and always knowing where he is, but as he grows older and smarter, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to stay two steps ahead of him.
Our extended family has several examples of how God has demonstrated steadfast love and grace at very critical times. Our experience yesterday will without a doubt be added to that list.
Rather than dwell on all the ways this scenario could have ended differently, we’re choosing to bask in the overwhelming gratitude we have for the angels among us. And also for the love we’re consistently shown – by our support network and by complete strangers. Are there sideways glances from folks in public sometimes? Sure. Nothing is perfect. But if we chose to focus on that, we’d be bitter and angry. And to be honest, the folks making assumptions about our kids and our life aren’t privileged enough to experience all of the really good stuff with us – I feel sad for them in that regard.
Remaining focused on all of the good (which completely outshines the not so good), gives us hope, appreciation, and the capacity to gracefully receive love in the most unexpected ways.
We’re over here pivoting quickly – researching GPS monitoring systems, making communication boards to be placed by all doors, figuring out if we need motion sensor alarms and developing strategies to support Max around the events that took place yesterday so we can prevent that scenario from happening again.
But we’re also taking the time to reflect on how lucky we are to be surrounded by so much good. So here’s to the good. May you seek it, may you give it, and may you experience it.
by Annie | Apr 15, 2022 | Blog
Pouring from a Cup Filled with Overwhelm, Anxiety and Depression
You may know our whole story, you may know parts or maybe you’re new here. Welcome. We’re a family of four navigating sensory processing disorders with both of our boys – ages 7 and 4. They are the greatest joys of our life, but this journey hasn’t been easy.
To be very clear, I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m clinging to my own vulnerability because I believe so strongly in normalizing the importance mental health, having difficult conversations to support each other in knowing that life is hard and sometimes we just can’t do everything all on our own. And that seeking help is more than okay, it’s paramount.
Our youngest son has really been through it the last eight weeks. In addition to weekly appointments for speech and OT, transitioning from one communication device to a new one and returning to school after a long hiatus because of the Omicron variant, he’s had two hospital stays, two outpatient tests, two sedated MRIs, the removal of a fingernail because of MRSA, and the diagnosis of a Chiari Malformation at the base of his brain. This is the abbreviated explanation, but basically his cerebellar tonsils are growing into his spinal cord and need to be operated on to prevent scoliosis, eliminate extreme headaches and blocking spinal fluid from being able to flow through. So we have a four hour brain surgery ahead of us. In thirteen days to be exact. We’re totally counting.
Our life without all the extra excitement is pretty intense. And I say that in the most loving way possible. But it’s just a lot. A lot of appointments, a lot of learning, a lot of trial and error, a lot of questions, a lot of curiosity, a lot of balancing, a lot of pivoting, a lot of anxiety, a lot of pressure, a lot of stress, but also a lot of happiness, love and strength.
Most days I feel like I have things pretty well handled. At least on the outside. I can mostly keep up with all of our obligations, communicate regularly with both boys’ teachers and therapists, try really hard to manage work (I’m lucky to have a job that is flexible), and even sneak in a few playdates, coaching Fletcher’s soccer team and the occasional date night or coffee with a friend.
I usually don’t experience the feeling of collapsing onto the couch after a long day and thinking “I’m done with everything and now I can rest.” It’s more like “I have a list of 1,000 things that still need attention, but I’m too tired so I’m going to sit here in my numbness knowing that I need to be doing something else, but it’s going to have to wait because I just can’t.” I know so many can relate to the heavy feeling of “the work is never done.”
That feeling has completely taken over since learning about Max’s surgery. The last few weeks I’ve toggled between kind of paralyzed and kind of productive (really only with very concrete organizational projects. If you need containers labeled or drawers cleaned out, I’m your girl. Everything else feels too hard). And totally overwhelmed. To be honest, I’ve towed this line for quite a while, always figuring out how to keep it together, navigate the daily grind and ensure things are relatively in order at home. Maybe a bit of imposter syndrome. Because I’m the girl that has always had it together and I absolutely don’t right now.
In addition to meeting with my amazing therapist, I’ve been on an anti-anxiety medication for a while. Amid all of our current challenges, it didn’t feel like it was doing the trick (and in hindsight it probably hadn’t been enough for longer than that) so my doctor increased my dose a few weeks ago. That helped for a while and then we added more layers to our already chaotic life. I heard the words brain surgery and immediately felt stuck. Like my feet couldn’t leave the ground no matter how hard I tried. I could tell you what needed to get done, but I couldn’t get my brain to tell my body to do it.
The conversation about Max’s pending surgery was like a violent gust of wind that peeled each one of my fingers from the ledge I was already clinging to…without warning, I was sent into the abyss of the unknown. And for someone who likes to have control, that’s one of the scariest places to be.
My husband and I process things in a different order – which is often one of our collective strengths. We both start with information gathering. And then he goes directly to emotion. So, while at our neurosurgery appointment when we learned Max would need surgery, Mike teared up as soon as the doctor left the room. It’s one of the things I love most about him honestly. He’s not afraid to access and show emotions.
I, on the other hand couldn’t cry for three weeks. And it wasn’t until a dear friend looked me in the eyes and said “Annie, how are you doing?” It took me that long to get to a place where I could feel and show emotion. After gathering information and trying to wrap my mind around all of it, I became paralyzed. And then I started furiously nesting. Organizing the pantry, drawers, closets, things that haven’t been touched since we moved into our house six years ago. And honestly, I still can’t let myself think about the magnitude of the surgery and our sweet baby boy. It’s too much, even though we know it’s necessary.
I went to see my doctor for a follow-up yesterday. I was anxious. I’ve put on weight, I’m feeling “stuck,” I struggle with even menial tasks, and I can’t seem to climb out of the puddle of overwhelm quicksand I’m living in. To be honest, there’s shame attached to all of that for me.
When I tell you I’ve never felt more validated by a doctor than Doctor C., it’s not an exaggeration. She has this magical way of meeting me where I am and making sure I leave feeling heard, valued, important and cared for (if that doesn’t sound like your doctor, switch to a new one. You deserve someone like Dr. C.). Beyond prescribing an additional antidepressant to add to my daily regimen, she gently reminded me that my life circumstances warrant feeling all the things that I do. My anxiety melted away with her sincere eye contact and genuine compassion in that moment. And so did some of the shame of feeling like I can’t keep up. I was able to find grace for myself and take a breath deeper than I’ve experienced in weeks. I felt lighter.
“You can’t pour from an empty cup” is a saying I use often. I’ve probably written it a thousand times as well. It’s one of those things I tell my close friends when they’re going through a hard time, but also something I forget to tell myself.
I can tell you with complete certainty that if you can’t pour from an empty cup, you absolutely can’t pour from a cup filled with overwhelm, anxiety and depression. You might as well fill that cup with cured cement. Nothing is coming out.
My family deserves to have a mama whose cup is full enough that I can be available for all of them. And I deserve that, too. Available in a way that isn’t just going through the motions, muscling my way through the day. But in a way that makes me present, in the moment, finding joy. I love joy. I just haven’t been able to feel it much lately.
So for now, I’m perfectly okay with getting support from my therapist and finding comfort in using medication to get me through an exceptionally difficult time. I know that I can’t (and I don’t have to!) do this by myself. I am prioritizing things that bring calm to my life. Doing yoga before bed, enjoying a warm cup of coffee, blogging at a quiet coffee shop, getting lost in a show, going for a long walk. I also know that slowly, I’ll begin to remember what life feels like when I’m not floundering under the weight of so many heavy things.
I want to conclude by saying that grief, feeling overwhelmed, anxiety, and depression are all relative. I’ve had people I love talk about something hard happening in their life and then follow it up with a quick “but this is nothing compared to what you’re dealing with.”
Yes, it is. It’s okay to feel like things are hard and overwhelming without comparing it to what others may be navigating. That in itself is giving yourself grace and validation. Do that every single time.
My wish for myself as it’s also my wish for all of you…
To more joy and more laughter. And light found in the form of support – no matter what that looks like.
A big thank you to all of our family and friends for the ways you’ve supported us during one of the most difficult times in our lives. We are stronger because of all of you.
Love and light, friends. <3
by Annie | Apr 12, 2022 | Blog
Bringing Sensory to the (Easter) Basket!
I always have grand plans of being ultra prepared and then time plows right through said plans and we’re sitting at the week of Easter. I picked up some great sensory toys for our boys’ Easter baskets at Dollar Tree a few weeks ago on a whim which you can view on the first and only TikTok video I’ve ever made, ha. Seriously, though, some really great sensory friendly options.
Fidgets
One of my favorite ways to bring more sensory-based toys and tools into our house is through gift giving. It puts a fun spin on things that also serve a purpose. Fidgets make really great additions to baskets and stockings, things left by Lucky the Leprechaun, or gift toppers if you’re fancy. We have some favorites that I thought I’d share in case you’re looking for some last minute items for your baskets…here are our top five:
Pop-it : Both of our boys (ages 3 and 6) love the pop-its that my sister bought them for Christmas. They’re great because they are much quieter than bubble wrap and are super portable. They are also easily washed in the sink!
Wacky Tracks: Super versatile, also really portable (I usually keep some in the car and/or my purse), and fun to see the various ways kids put them to use. These are used almost daily during virtual learning in our house – they fit very discreetly in a little lap.
Fidget Ball: This thing is like Rubiks Cube meets Pop-It and it’s as fabulous as it looks. Fletcher loves that it’s round and that he can feel the ball popping from one spot to another while he tries to solve the puzzle.
Arrgh! Ball: The Arrgh! ball is one of our favorite new things of 2021. We learned about them from our craniosacral therapist. They’re super fun because they’re squishy, but they also have a little weight to them which provides wonderful input. Both of our boys love the Arrgh! Ball. A quick note of caution: One that we purchased has water beads inside. Looks super cool and adds a textural element to the ball. However, if you have a child with endless curiosity like we do, they may find their way to the plug at the bottom and figure out how to get some of those water beads out (this definitely happened to us within 20 minutes of owning it, ha!)
Therapy Putty: This putty was one of the first tools we received from OT and remains one of Fletcher’s favorites. The containers come in different strengths depending on the level of input you’re looking for. Therapy putty is a great sensory tool disguised by fun colors and compact containers. (We sent some to school with Fletcher in his backpack when he was just beginning his sensory journey and really struggling. It was used as a “take a break” activity for him.)
Basket Fillers
Our good friend Emily the OT is frequently asked about sensory basket fillers for Easter, but also for other occasions like birthdays. Following is her go-to list of tried and true sensory basket fillers:
1-Chewy
2-Chalk
3- Easter Light up spinner toy
4- Water Wow
5-Pop tubes
6-Bath toys
7-Jump rope
8-Sensory drum
9-Poke a dot book
10-Touch and feel books
11-Crinkle paper
12-O ball with scarves
13-Scarves
14-Maracas light up
15-Kazoo
16-Koosh balls
17-Slinky
18-Glow sticks
19-Easter stickers
20-Magic towels (dollar store)
21-Capsule sponge
22-Visual bubbler
23-Puffer chicks
Egg Hunt Sensory Strategies
While we’re talking about Easter and some of the more traditional activities, you might consider some of the following strategies to help your sensory kiddos manage what can sometimes be a chaotic, overwhelming and overstimulating experience…. THE EGG HUNT.
- Visual schedule (create a visual schedule with pictures so your child knows what to expect, the order of activities, where they’ll be looking for eggs, etc.
- Color code eggs: Give each child ONE color egg to hunt for. So Ryan knows ahead of time he is only looking for yellow eggs and Ari knows she is only looking for purple. This cuts down on the anxiety.
- Egg hunt social story – similar concept to the visual schedule above, but another way to lay out expectations and the overall experience.
- Quiet area for breaks: Create a safe space for your kiddo to retreat when/if they’re feeling overwhelmed. With color-coded eggs, the “rush” is eliminated and they can find their respective eggs when it works for them.
- Practice ahead of time!: Create an egg hunt or other hide and seek games prior to the day of so they’re comfortable with what to expect.
Wishing all a low-stress, low-anxiety, enjoyable weekend!
