Whew. We are on the struggle bus this week. It’s Tuesday, but everything has felt hard. EVERYTHING. I think it’s a combination of things – we’re burned out from virtual learning, the weather is still cold so we haven’t had as much outside time, there was a full moon over the weekend and maybe a growth spurt.
What could normally be a quick “Fletcher, when the timer goes off, please put your shoes on.” “Okay, Mom.” exchange has become a knock-down drag-out battle of the wills. Every. Single. Time. It doesn’t seem to matter what strategies I try to employ or how much lead time I give him. As he has said, “it’s just too hard.”
I noticed that I was losing it a bit this morning. My patience isn’t infinite and even when I dig as deeply as I can, sometimes there just isn’t anything left in my tank. But before I had a pity party (that’s not to say you shouldn’t let yourself feel all the emotions that come with this journey. You absolutely should. All of those feelings are valid.) I remembered a shirt I saw yesterday. It said something similar to “Put your hair up. Pour some coffee. Handle it.”
Yes…handle it. That little mantra allowed me to get out of my head and out of my feelings and handle it today. After a really tough day yesterday, Fletcher started out the day with what felt like a 180. I was hopeful. We changed things up a bit, really limited screen time and made sure to start preparing him for today by talking through our day last night. But by his morning break time it was clear he needed a giant dose of sensory input to help him regulate and organize. I had been the recipient of his dysregulation this morning and while I knew it wasn’t personal, I also knew I could not sustain a calm response to his sharp words and impulsive actions for the remainder of the day. I needed to handle it.
Normally between his virtual meets we sneak in a dance break or some other movement, but I wasn’t sure that would be enough. So instead, we took our puppy on a walk and stacked sensory strategy on sensory strategy on sensory strategy – packing in as much as we could. In addition to Fletcher moving his body in the cold fresh air which is good input to begin with, I gave him a blow pop. We try to avoid added sugar if we can help it, but I knew that today he could use the extra input punch of sucking that tart candy shell and then chewing the gum at the center. I had him hold onto the leash for a bit so he’d also get the resistance of our energetic pup pulling in various directions (heavy work) and we ended our walk at the nearby playground.
Like he does with most things, Fletcher experienced our walk with all of his senses, finding even more ways to get the input he so desperately needed. He forcefully stomped on ice, climbed uneven snow banks, held frozen icicles, shouted while we were under a freeway overpass to hear his loud echo, noticed snow that had melted into the shape of a heart, felt the frigid air on his cheeks and furiously pumped his legs on a swing at the park. All in a matter of 30 minutes.
There was a noticeable difference in his ability to focus for his next virtual class. He loathes fine motor activities, but he cut several items, glued them onto a separate sheet and was so engaged that he eagerly contributed to the class discussion when called on. He put his weighted blanket on his lap independently, didn’t use any of his fidgets and didn’t need any coaching to stay on task. THAT was a 180.
Fletcher and I were alone together in the car shortly after he finished school for the day. He asked me to turn on our favorite song and we sang at the top of our lungs together – it’s our tried and true collective reset button that we use several times a week. We ALWAYS feel better afterwards.
And now here I sit. Overly caffeinated, ponytail a little higher and tighter than normal, celebrating that IT…was handled. I have been at this long enough to know that what worked today may not work tomorrow, but I’ve also learned the importance of acknowledging and being proud of small victories. It helps me live in the moment, reminding myself that even though this can be hard, in the words of Glennon Doyle, “we can do hard things.”