When My Son Met a Not-So-Average Mall Santa

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This was not just about seeing Santa.

This was not about having my kids sit on his lap and tell him what they wanted.

This was so much more than that.

This was a room full of families looking for an atmosphere where their child could just be — with no one staring, no judgment, no whispering.

This was a room filled with children with special needs. There was hand-flapping. There was crying. There were kids (mine) walking around a table over and over and over. There were kids on iPads. There was a train set. There were autism-friendly toys. There was “Polar Express” playing on a big TV. There was a Play-Doh table. There was a woman blowing bubbles. There were no lines of people. There was a mom crying and talking to a woman from the Autism Society of Nebraska who helped organize it. She was saying, “Thank you so much; this was wonderful.”

This was a room full of acceptance and patience. It was an opportunity for families to have a stress-free environment for their kids who get stressed easily. It was a community coming together.

I found out about this sensory-friendly Santa photo shoot from my son’s occupational therapist, who called me several weeks ago to tell me she got an e-mail from the Autism Society about it and specifically thought of Easton. I wasn’t even planning on doing the whole “Mall Santa” thing this year. It’s just not worth the stress. But I signed up for this event, thinking it might be worth a try.

Easton walked right over to Santa when it was our turn, mainly because there was an elf blowing bubbles. I said, “Say hi to Santa!” He started singing, “MUST BE SANTA! MUST BE SANTA!” without even looking at the big man with the white beard. In fact, he never actually looked at him. But… he let this stranger get in his space.

At first, he would only go near Santa if I was right there.

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He did eventually let me leave the shot. Not every photo was fantastic.

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Keegan tried to help a few times.

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Easton was just… Easton.

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He tried to say, “Cheeeeeese!”

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Santa was a trooper.

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And then, sometimes, everything comes together… and there is that one. perfect. shot.

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And, of course, I was watching all of this and trying not to cry. This was the exact opposite of how I thought this would go today. I didn’t think Easton would go near Santa. I thought he would throw himself on the floor in a meltdown. But… I figured it was worth a try for one good picture.

Words can’t express how grateful I am for the people that made this happen… for organizations that “get it” and do all of the preparations necessary to make events like this a success.

We went to Kohl’s afterward. Easton highly objected. Would it be too much to ask to have elves following us around, blowing bubbles?

This post originally appeared on Glass Half Full.

For all of December, The Mighty is celebrating the moments we gave or received a gift that touched our lives in a special way. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post describing this moment for you. Include a photo and 1-2 sentence bio to [email protected].
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When I Started Eating Lunch With My Classmate With Down Syndrome

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Differences surround us. They can define us. They can hurt and separate, shape us and inspire us.

In fifth grade, the last thing most people want to be is different.

That’s when I met Caleb, as we were waiting for the bus to take us home. Caleb was obviously ready for the school day to be over; he kept saying, “Bus, bus, bus.” I was unsure what to think at first, but I knew, much like me, Caleb wanted the day to be done. But that seemed to be where our similarities stopped. He was unlike most of the other fifth graders I knew.  

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Every day at lunch, I would sit with him. I thought this would be tough at first, because I was unsure how to interact because of our differences. But it was actually fun. After lunch, I would walk Caleb to P.E., and we would play together. We would bowl. We would dance. We would laugh.

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IMG_6746 I’ve been to many parent/teacher conferences. I have three typically-developing children — well-behaved, high achievers. In these later years of their schooling, I’ve received a lot of forms with “No conference necessary at this time” checked off. In the early years I went in to confer with teachers, who, to my surprise, never wanted to talk about the sheer wonderfulness of my darlings. There was always a problem. Most of the time the problem was talking in class.

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We looked at each other for a moment, and then I burst out laughing. Miss R. did too.

“I know… it’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she said. “So typical for his age, so creative…”

“So naughty,” I filled in.

It’s so hard for T to make himself known as a person in the world. At home we know him well, but it’s hard sometimes for us to understand what he wants and needs. He has only a few signs and sounds he uses to communicate. He relies on others to move him around and bring him things. We make so many decisions for T, and many of them are guesses.

I never expected that my heart would swell with joy when I heard my little boy was doing something naughty. I went around bragging about it for days. He’d given me the gift not just of rebelling against something, but finding a new and better way to rebel when thwarted. Sometimes, when I worry, I take that memory out and picture Miss R.’s impression of T tossing a cup over his shoulder with determination and aplomb.

Naughty — but also very nice.

The Mighty is celebrating the moments we gave or received a gift that touched our lives in a special way. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post describing this moment for you. Include a photo and 1-2 sentence bio to [email protected].
Hint! Some gifts don’t come in packages.

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The Holiday E-mail All Parents of Children With Special Needs Should Read

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Ah, the holidays…

They always end up being so hectic and stressful. Add a child with autism in the mix and things become even more chaotic. I wrote to our therapist about my daughter, Lila, and Christmas. The truth is, the gifts mean nothing to Lila. She couldn’t care less. Know what she wants for Christmas? Her balloons and ping pong balls and for Mommy and Daddy to be at home playing with her.

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There are so many social norms and expectations surrounding the holidays. It’s like there’s a big book of items that are stereotypical and everyone feels if they aren’t ticking off a certain number of them, they aren’t doing it right. So many holiday things are hard for people with ASD. Different foods/cooking smells, longer travel times to infrequently visited homes with unfamiliar people and a different schedule, things you can’t touch, sitting on Santa’s lap, opening gifts, more shopping trips, all the forced social interactions, I could go on and on…

This is a great opportunity to ditch all the “normal” expectations and start to develop BETTER, new, fun ways for you all to do the holiday thing. Free yourself from all that garbage and follow her lead. You can celebrate in an AUTHENTIC and true way to your family. Your special twist on things will mean so much more to her than ANY gift. It’s kind of exciting and freeing isn’t it – to get to rewrite the book and tick your own things off? You are going to have a much better time than a lot of “normal” families. Makes you almost feel sorry for them… 🙂

So, please take that advice and do as you wish with it. I hope it helps you and your families like it has helped me. Our holidays won’t ever be what typical families would consider normal, but maybe – just maybe — they will be even better. Happy Holidays and much love to all of you and your beautiful, different little families!

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This post originally appeared on Dancing With Autism.

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I Would Have Made an Awesome Soccer Mom

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I had a few hours of free time on Sunday, and because I lead a very sexy life, I used the time to clean out my pantry. It’s a little room off my kitchen that has, over the last six years since my son came home, transitioned from a cute, chandeliered office/pantry to an enter-at-your-own-risk-I-can’t-be-responsible-for-what-falls-on-your-head room. It was time.

Photos, party supplies, glue guns, three coffee makers, expired cupcake mix – I sorted and filed and moved and tossed. I was on the last shelf when I yanked down a big, big box marked “ice cream social.” Huh? Two things: one, why do I have a huge box marked “ice cream social”? And two, I don’t even remember being the person who had time to appropriately label stuff in my pantry.

I opened the box, and inside was everything you need for the coolest kid party ever. There was a shake maker, snow-cone machine, cotton candy spinner and a cake pop baker. Long-handled spoons, ice cream bowls and a bright table cloth with ice cream cones printed on it. At the bottom of this box — the cherry on this surprise sundae — was a lime green pedestal that held six small bowls for ice cream toppings. Sitting in the middle of the spinning pedestal was a ceramic cupcake with a removable lid for hot fudge or caramel or strawberry sauce. It was summer and Pinterest and laughing children in one clever serving piece. It was darling.

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I wanted to throw the darling cupcake as hard as I could against the wall.

Instead, I sat down next to the box called “ice cream social” and cried.

I remember this stuff. I bid on it at a silent auction years ago, back when ice cream socials and impromptu play dates and birthday parties had starring roles in my parenting plan. Back before I knew that my son’s meltdowns were not a phase and back when I thought he played by himself because he was shy. Back before I had any idea that I would not be a soccer mom but a special needs mom.

What I have here is a box full of plans for a kid I don’t have. Some days, like today, it makes me sad.

I was crying for my son, but I’ll admit I was also crying for me. Instead of six different ice cream toppings always on hand for my son’s friends, I have an endless supply of pens for his therapists. Instead of being the house that everyone comes to, we are the people that are never home. Instead of bike rides, we have speech therapy; instead of swim parties, we go to OT.

Do I begrudge this? Not ever. But is this what I planned? No. Every once in a while, not very often, but every once in a while, I give myself permission to grieve for the life I don’t have, to think about the mom I don’t get to be.

I wrapped up the cupcake and put it back in the box. One day. Maybe. In the meantime, the sweetest boy in the world was on his way home. As moms go, I think I’m doing OK. Ice cream socials are fun, but my son needs a mom with a backbone, some fight and a strong voice. I’ve got that.

But just so you know, I would have made an awesome soccer mom.

Sincerely,
Becca

This post originally appeared on Sincerely, Becca.

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