Lindsay Nauheimer

@lindsay-nauheimer | contributor
Lindsay Nauheimer is a former teacher and stay-at-home mom of three children.

Letter to Future Teacher of My Son With Sensory Processing Disorder

Dear future teacher, We are going to need to work closely together, so this first impression is really important. I have started this letter several times. And deleted each one. Should I make this short and sweet? Very professional? Should I go over this in person instead? Should I appeal to the mom in you? Should I let it all out right from the start? Here it goes. My son, Jake, will be in your class this year. I know you know who he is. He’s the one his first-grade teacher had carrying heavy books to your room to help him self-regulate. Jake has sensory processing disorder, which may make your job challenging at times. Your approach to this could make or break his day and his year. I know you probably also know who I am. I volunteer a lot. While I’d love to say this is because it’s my nature to serve the community, my main goal is trying to help my son get through each day. While I hadn’t searched Pinterest before, now I volunteer to be class mom and scour the site so I can plan activities that are fun for kids but that my son can also tolerate. Parties are hard with all that extra noise, different foods, and games and crafts that require him to rely on his gross, fine and visual motor skills. I volunteer to serve pizza or sell ice cream during lunch periods so I can bring a hot lunch to my son that fits his limited diet. The pizza on pizza day isn’t the same temperature he’s used to, and I’ve watched him physically gag trying to get it down. I go on class trips so I can talk him through bus rides (I drive him every other school day) and zoo trips when he says under his breath about how he’d rather be at school doing math. He’s a fan of routine, and class trips change that. Certain parts of the day are scheduled to be fun breaks from the academic rigors of the day, such as lunch, gym, assemblies and recess. But for my son, those parts of the day can be more challenging. They can create perfect storms of his challenges with sensory over-responsiveness and motor skills. When a child has sensory processing disorder, it can be an onslaught of sensory information all day. When there is a meltdown, please consider if it is related to his sensory processing. For example, was he sitting close to classmates during an assembly? He is so tactile defensive that he doesn’t wear socks. Sitting close to people in a crowded auditorium is hard on his body. Consider what happened before this meltdown. If you think this is sensory-related, please don’t treat it as misbehavior. Of course, he is 7 and sometimes just misbehaves, and we realize that, too. It’s tricky to differentiate, and we struggle with it too, but it’s important that you do. Many of his positive attributes are tied to his sensory processing too. He feels so much, so he’s often aware of how everyone else may be feeling. His vocabulary and sense of humor are very advanced, but he might use this (by cracking jokes, for example) as a way to compensate for the times he feels behind in other areas. Being a mom to a boy with sensory processing disorder can be a fine balance. It’s fighting for services for a boy who excels academically but has challenges during recess. It’s having faith to let go and hand him over to you, even though I spend each day guiding him through activities. It’s trying to explain these challenges in enough detail so you truly understand without coming off as “that mom.” As a former teacher, I knew her — the one who might seem a little too overeager or involved. As a mom of this boy, it’s sometimes embracing being “that mom.” Because if I hadn’t, I truly don’t know where we would be right now. Sometimes sensory processing disorder can make a child feel like a square peg in a round hole in our current educational settings. Thank you for working on this puzzle together. As parents, we will do anything possible to help him, and you, have a successful year. Thank you for all you do. Sincerely,A mom of a child with sensory processing disorder Image via Thinkstock Images

Talking With Others About Child's Sensory Processing Disorder

Birthday parties. Movies. Recess. Gym class. Lunch. These are the highlights of many kids’ days, but when your child has sensory processing disorder, that may not always be the case. For my son, Jake, each sense is super-powered. Tastes are too strong, lights are too bright, sounds are too loud, smells are too strong and a light touch feels like a sneak attack on his over responsive sensory system. While it affects every aspect of his life, it changes a parent’s life, too. Some other moms may sit and talk while the kids are off playing, but I am always aware of what my son is doing. This makes me appear like a “helicopter mom.” However, during sensory overload, he has trouble regulating his emotions, so I’m watching so I can help. He doesn’t always know his triggers, so I watch. Too much water in his eyes while playing at the lake could lead to a meltdown, so I am his sidekick to evaluate his superpowers and teach him to self-regulate. While I normally sit by myself, one day a new neighbor sat close by me at the beach. We made some small talk, and she suggested my son join the swim team. I explained that swimming was tough because of Jake’s challenges with motor planning, body awareness and sensory over-responsiveness. A challenge for a parent of a child with sensory processing disorder can be the lack of understanding from others. A lot of people do not think it is real. But she did. So most people half-listen, or roll their eyes, or remark that with more discipline or “just one weekend” at their house, my son would be “cured.” But she didn’t. She asked a variety of questions about sensory processing. When did we first notice signs of it? Will he grow out of it? How does it affect him? Finally, she asked, “What do you do about it?” I immediately listed the things we do to help our son. “He’s been in private occupational therapy for three years, gets OT in school, he is in vision therapy, we had his occupational therapist come to school to explain his challenges to his teachers…” She interrupted me. “No. Not for him. That’s a lot to handle as a parent. What do you do for you?” Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, because my eyes immediately filled up with tears. While I could rattle off a list of things we were doing to help my son, I couldn’t name one thing I do to help myself handle my son’s challenges. I had never actually even thought about it. No one had ever asked me how his diagnosis affects me, let alone a person I barely know. If you know a special needs mom, ask them about their child. Listen to their explanations about why their child behaves a certain way. Don’t judge their parenting from small snapshots of one day. Trust that they know best. Ask them what they are doing for themselves. Parenting a child with sensory processing disorder can be a lonely road. But one person with a genuine interest and concern for your child and for you can make you feel better and remind you to take care of yourself, too. Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

Talking With Others About Child's Sensory Processing Disorder

Birthday parties. Movies. Recess. Gym class. Lunch. These are the highlights of many kids’ days, but when your child has sensory processing disorder, that may not always be the case. For my son, Jake, each sense is super-powered. Tastes are too strong, lights are too bright, sounds are too loud, smells are too strong and a light touch feels like a sneak attack on his over responsive sensory system. While it affects every aspect of his life, it changes a parent’s life, too. Some other moms may sit and talk while the kids are off playing, but I am always aware of what my son is doing. This makes me appear like a “helicopter mom.” However, during sensory overload, he has trouble regulating his emotions, so I’m watching so I can help. He doesn’t always know his triggers, so I watch. Too much water in his eyes while playing at the lake could lead to a meltdown, so I am his sidekick to evaluate his superpowers and teach him to self-regulate. While I normally sit by myself, one day a new neighbor sat close by me at the beach. We made some small talk, and she suggested my son join the swim team. I explained that swimming was tough because of Jake’s challenges with motor planning, body awareness and sensory over-responsiveness. A challenge for a parent of a child with sensory processing disorder can be the lack of understanding from others. A lot of people do not think it is real. But she did. So most people half-listen, or roll their eyes, or remark that with more discipline or “just one weekend” at their house, my son would be “cured.” But she didn’t. She asked a variety of questions about sensory processing. When did we first notice signs of it? Will he grow out of it? How does it affect him? Finally, she asked, “What do you do about it?” I immediately listed the things we do to help our son. “He’s been in private occupational therapy for three years, gets OT in school, he is in vision therapy, we had his occupational therapist come to school to explain his challenges to his teachers…” She interrupted me. “No. Not for him. That’s a lot to handle as a parent. What do you do for you?” Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, because my eyes immediately filled up with tears. While I could rattle off a list of things we were doing to help my son, I couldn’t name one thing I do to help myself handle my son’s challenges. I had never actually even thought about it. No one had ever asked me how his diagnosis affects me, let alone a person I barely know. If you know a special needs mom, ask them about their child. Listen to their explanations about why their child behaves a certain way. Don’t judge their parenting from small snapshots of one day. Trust that they know best. Ask them what they are doing for themselves. Parenting a child with sensory processing disorder can be a lonely road. But one person with a genuine interest and concern for your child and for you can make you feel better and remind you to take care of yourself, too. Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

Educating Teachers About Children With Sensory Processing Disorder

I knew it all. I’m a list maker, a goal setter. And since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teacher and a mom. I went to college and earned a masters degree in education. I put 110 percent into my classroom every day. I was asked to mentor teachers starting out. I worked with student teachers. I wrote curriculum. It was my passion. I knew it all. I was childless, and yet, in my overconfident, young mind, I knew everything about raising children. The child study team of one of my students suggested I have him carry heavy books between my sixth-grade double period language arts class. Without even a conversation, they handed me a printout that explained the heavy work would help regulate his sensory system. I wondered, what could carrying a few books in the middle of my class really do? And then, a few years later, I became a mom to a little boy, and I realized I knew absolutely nothing. My son Jake entered the world in chaotic fashion, perhaps a signal of things to come. Looking back, there were so many signs. At the time, they were just “quirks.” He froze on metal playgrounds and had to be carried down. He covered his ears with loud noises. He hated water in his face. He had an extremely limited diet and could vomit just looking at a food he found unpleasant. He couldn’t catch a ball or pedal a bike with training wheels. His body seemed to always be in fight-or-flight mode, often both, and his meltdowns were more intense. But he also had amazing qualities that were more intense, too. His vocabulary and intelligence were off the charts. His sense of humor and mayor-like personality often overshadowed his challenges. However, one particularly tough day when Jake was about 3, I sat down and listed all these “quirks” on paper and realized we needed help. We waited seven months for an appointment with a developmental pediatrician. After a long evaluation, the nurse took Jake out of the room to give him a prize. The doctor sat down with us, diagnosed Jake with ADHD and noted he had “sensory over-responsiveness.” In all my education and professional development, I had never once heard the term “sensory processing disorder.” I did not know an estimated one in 20 children have sensory processing disorder (according to the Sensory Processing Disorder Foundation). It is especially challenging because these sensory problems present in many different ways. A child can be under-responsive, over responsive or both. It can affect any combination of your seven (yes, seven, another thing I did not know) senses. His reactions to sensory input are not always consistent. Too often, both parents and educators simply do not understand this disorder. I know from my own experience, many teachers are simply not educated about it. Because of this, there are kids with sensory processing disorder who are being labeled “defiant” or with “behavior problems.” Their parents are being labeled as “failing.” They are judged as their child melts down. Their teachers who aren’t quite sure what to do with them are going home exhausted or frustrated. If one in 20 students is affected by sensory processing, there is a good chance there is one child in every classroom, yet many teachers have no formal training on sensory processing disorder. I feel immense guilt over being a teacher who once didn’t understand, for rolling my eyes when it was suggested a student carry heavy books, as I’ve seen that very same activity help my son. As I’ve learned more about Jake and his challenges from the team of experts who work with him, I pass that on to his teachers. Luckily, his teachers have been open and supportive, and our days are all better with this understanding. Hopefully, all children will receive this compassion, all these parents will have support and all these teachers will have the tools they need for everyone to understand these kids and keep any from falling through the cracks. Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

Educating Teachers About Children With Sensory Processing Disorder

I knew it all. I’m a list maker, a goal setter. And since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teacher and a mom. I went to college and earned a masters degree in education. I put 110 percent into my classroom every day. I was asked to mentor teachers starting out. I worked with student teachers. I wrote curriculum. It was my passion. I knew it all. I was childless, and yet, in my overconfident, young mind, I knew everything about raising children. The child study team of one of my students suggested I have him carry heavy books between my sixth-grade double period language arts class. Without even a conversation, they handed me a printout that explained the heavy work would help regulate his sensory system. I wondered, what could carrying a few books in the middle of my class really do? And then, a few years later, I became a mom to a little boy, and I realized I knew absolutely nothing. My son Jake entered the world in chaotic fashion, perhaps a signal of things to come. Looking back, there were so many signs. At the time, they were just “quirks.” He froze on metal playgrounds and had to be carried down. He covered his ears with loud noises. He hated water in his face. He had an extremely limited diet and could vomit just looking at a food he found unpleasant. He couldn’t catch a ball or pedal a bike with training wheels. His body seemed to always be in fight-or-flight mode, often both, and his meltdowns were more intense. But he also had amazing qualities that were more intense, too. His vocabulary and intelligence were off the charts. His sense of humor and mayor-like personality often overshadowed his challenges. However, one particularly tough day when Jake was about 3, I sat down and listed all these “quirks” on paper and realized we needed help. We waited seven months for an appointment with a developmental pediatrician. After a long evaluation, the nurse took Jake out of the room to give him a prize. The doctor sat down with us, diagnosed Jake with ADHD and noted he had “sensory over-responsiveness.” In all my education and professional development, I had never once heard the term “sensory processing disorder.” I did not know an estimated one in 20 children have sensory processing disorder (according to the Sensory Processing Disorder Foundation). It is especially challenging because these sensory problems present in many different ways. A child can be under-responsive, over responsive or both. It can affect any combination of your seven (yes, seven, another thing I did not know) senses. His reactions to sensory input are not always consistent. Too often, both parents and educators simply do not understand this disorder. I know from my own experience, many teachers are simply not educated about it. Because of this, there are kids with sensory processing disorder who are being labeled “defiant” or with “behavior problems.” Their parents are being labeled as “failing.” They are judged as their child melts down. Their teachers who aren’t quite sure what to do with them are going home exhausted or frustrated. If one in 20 students is affected by sensory processing, there is a good chance there is one child in every classroom, yet many teachers have no formal training on sensory processing disorder. I feel immense guilt over being a teacher who once didn’t understand, for rolling my eyes when it was suggested a student carry heavy books, as I’ve seen that very same activity help my son. As I’ve learned more about Jake and his challenges from the team of experts who work with him, I pass that on to his teachers. Luckily, his teachers have been open and supportive, and our days are all better with this understanding. Hopefully, all children will receive this compassion, all these parents will have support and all these teachers will have the tools they need for everyone to understand these kids and keep any from falling through the cracks. Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

Talking With Others About Child's Sensory Processing Disorder

Birthday parties. Movies. Recess. Gym class. Lunch. These are the highlights of many kids’ days, but when your child has sensory processing disorder, that may not always be the case. For my son, Jake, each sense is super-powered. Tastes are too strong, lights are too bright, sounds are too loud, smells are too strong and a light touch feels like a sneak attack on his over responsive sensory system. While it affects every aspect of his life, it changes a parent’s life, too. Some other moms may sit and talk while the kids are off playing, but I am always aware of what my son is doing. This makes me appear like a “helicopter mom.” However, during sensory overload, he has trouble regulating his emotions, so I’m watching so I can help. He doesn’t always know his triggers, so I watch. Too much water in his eyes while playing at the lake could lead to a meltdown, so I am his sidekick to evaluate his superpowers and teach him to self-regulate. While I normally sit by myself, one day a new neighbor sat close by me at the beach. We made some small talk, and she suggested my son join the swim team. I explained that swimming was tough because of Jake’s challenges with motor planning, body awareness and sensory over-responsiveness. A challenge for a parent of a child with sensory processing disorder can be the lack of understanding from others. A lot of people do not think it is real. But she did. So most people half-listen, or roll their eyes, or remark that with more discipline or “just one weekend” at their house, my son would be “cured.” But she didn’t. She asked a variety of questions about sensory processing. When did we first notice signs of it? Will he grow out of it? How does it affect him? Finally, she asked, “What do you do about it?” I immediately listed the things we do to help our son. “He’s been in private occupational therapy for three years, gets OT in school, he is in vision therapy, we had his occupational therapist come to school to explain his challenges to his teachers…” She interrupted me. “No. Not for him. That’s a lot to handle as a parent. What do you do for you?” Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, because my eyes immediately filled up with tears. While I could rattle off a list of things we were doing to help my son, I couldn’t name one thing I do to help myself handle my son’s challenges. I had never actually even thought about it. No one had ever asked me how his diagnosis affects me, let alone a person I barely know. If you know a special needs mom, ask them about their child. Listen to their explanations about why their child behaves a certain way. Don’t judge their parenting from small snapshots of one day. Trust that they know best. Ask them what they are doing for themselves. Parenting a child with sensory processing disorder can be a lonely road. But one person with a genuine interest and concern for your child and for you can make you feel better and remind you to take care of yourself, too. Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images

Jolene Sanders

How to Get Through Daily Grief After Child Loss

As much as I joke about what I endured as a middle child, growing up the middle of three was pretty great. I learned so much from my younger and older siblings. As I got older, I always imagined I would also have three kids of my own. It seemed like a good number. A number that would complete our family. So I was elated, and a little nervous when I discovered this year that I would finally be a mother of three. I was now facing my 39th year on this earth, so unlike the other two pregnancies, we decided to wait to tell anyone because that’s what people do, though it never made too much sense to me. We even waited to tell our families. It was so hard not to tell the kids or to share the news with our parents. I wanted everyone to share in the joy and the journey. I wanted to rub my belly in public and stop hiding my growing tummy. I wanted everyone else to wonder about the baby, who she would be, and who she would look like. But we waited until we knew the baby was healthy and strong. Then we started to tell people. Jolene’s sons Lourson (right) and Jax wearing their “big brother” T-shirts This picture to the right is from the day we told the boys, gifting them with shirts to celebrate the new baby. It was to be the picture I would eventually share in the obligatory Facebook announcement. I looked at this picture and wondered how being a big brother would be different or the same for my son Lourson this time. I laughed at how my other son Jax would come to accept being a middle child as he navigated the same challenges I did growing up sandwiched between the firstborn and the baby. I wondered about the first picture I would take with all three of my children and if everyone would be smiling as brightly as they were in this picture. It is with the heaviest of hearts, and I do mean the very heaviest, that I am now haunted by those wonders. Those wonders wake me at 3 a.m. and pin me down in bed in the morning when I would normally be getting up. They follow me around as I wander from room to room crying. They are bold and present when I am praying the day will end so I can crawl back in bed. They stare back at me when I look at the face of the man I love, the man who has been scraping me off the floor and enduring my pain, much of it very loud and sloppy. Loss is ugly and mean. It is the absence of something that truly belongs. Sometimes it taps you on the shoulder and scurries away, only to revisit you from time to time in some watered-down version of itself. Sometimes it holds your face, staring at you, daring you to look away first. Then sometimes it bursts into your home uninvited and screams at you, threatening to hold your hand for the rest of your life. But eventually it dulls a little. The loss of a child is all that and more. This last week I have tried to string words together to describe that horror. I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine how this loss would ever be manageable or dull, even a little. I talked to a friend who has experienced the loss of a child and he said to me something that you always hear, but don’t want to believe when it becomes the reality you are facing: “The pain never goes away, you just learn how to live with it.” F*ck. I imagined having to hold the hand of loss for the rest of my life. I wanted it to leave my house. I wanted to “get through it.” I wanted my mind to overcome the pain in my heart. That’s the thing about grief, though. Logic doesn’t stand a chance against grief. It can’t fill the hole left by the absence of something that truly belongs. As I write this I am barely emerging from the worst of it and wondering why nobody ever talks about this part. I can’t bring myself to cook a decent meal for my kids or be completely present in a conversation…And then there’s the horrible crying. It comes out of nowhere and is constant. It makes you ugly and burns your face. It is so heavy that it chokes you and you find it hard to breathe. And nobody ever talks about the trauma of the worst physical pain a human can feel. The trauma. The actual physical pain that makes you scream, stumble, pass out. The kind of intense physical pain that serves as a cruel reminder of what you are losing, in case there was ever any doubt. Yet somehow in the middle of this nightmare, there is still the capacity to feel a tremendous amount of love, because it is love that is in fact the reason for this hell. Nobody talks about what you’re supposed to do with that. Maybe one day I will find a way to not spontaneously cry while waiting in line. Maybe I will be able to walk through Jaxon’s daycare without thinking about the crib his little sister was supposed to occupy. Maybe I won’t feel the weight of Lourson’s empathy telling me he is worried about what will happen to me now that the baby is gone.  Maybe I will be able to look at the love of my life without seeing how much he is hurting for me and postponing his own grief. Who knows. For now I miss waking five times a night to pee. I miss the swollen breasts. I miss the cravings and aversions. I miss outgrowing my clothes and needing a nap. I miss how brilliant and sharp everything was. I miss being with my baby, and dreaming, and completely loving all the possibilities this life held. Each morning now seems to start with missing; the kind of missing that you try to bargain with and talk yourself out of. The kind of missing that you fear will start this strong every morning for the rest of your life. It is the kind of missing that you wish would disappear because it hurts so damn bad, but you can’t let it go because you think it has to exist to honor your child and remind your heart. It is the kind of missing that has changed you, and you will be tethered to that forever. It is the kind of missing that reminds you that hell and resilience can coexist, but it is a constant, hostile negotiation. It is pure love. It is heartbreak. People usually end something like this by saying “Hug your babies tonight.” That is valid. Yes, do that always. For me, it would be to share your happiness with people, and your grief for that matter. Tell people when something wonderful happens. Let people share that with you for as long as they can. I hate the fact that word of my daughter’s life comes now in the form of an announcement of her passing. I would go back and redo that in a heartbeat. I would give anything to have others share those months with me wondering and smiling and talking and loving and celebrating her. And if the time ever comes, share your grief. Openly “miss.” Validate the pain. When this began almost a month ago I thought I was completely losing my mind.  It took an hour long conversation with my doctor to assure me otherwise (although that still comes into question at least twice a day). He said to me, “We have a strange approach to grief in America. We hide it and we try to do it alone, very quietly without disturbing other people. You lost your baby. You get to grieve.” It was at that moment that I confronted the way I have grieved my whole life and knew it was not sustainable, not after this. This one I can not do alone. I am very fortunate to have good people in my life who continue to amaze me with their kindness. They have sat with me, cried with me, listened, held my hand, and refrained from telling me how it was all going to be rainbows and unicorns again one day. They have not run from the grief, as ugly as it has been. Instead, they walked toward it and doused it with love. Thank you. Until the day I die, I will remember every detail of this. I will remember the date, I will remember the last place I went before it happened and what I was wearing. I will remember the headache that would not go away, the bizarre headache that told me something was wrong. I will remember the words I spoke to God on the way to the hospital, and I will remember every single second I was there. The doctor’s face, his voice, and every horrible word he said to me. Every single cruel detail. But I do not want my daughter to be remembered as the reason for my grief or for why I am changed. She was not this experience. I write this now to make sure of that; to speak about what she was during this very short time and about the love she grew in us. She was Ruby Grace Foster. She was joyfully anticipated. We smiled thinking about her. She was feisty and she kicked my ass. I knew she was smarter than me, and that scared me. She slept every night with my arms wrapped around her, and she was loved completely. I will now honor her life with honest joy and honest grief. And I will love her forever. Under the weight of so much pain, I will love her forever.

Talking With Others About Child's Sensory Processing Disorder

Birthday parties. Movies. Recess. Gym class. Lunch. These are the highlights of many kids’ days, but when your child has sensory processing disorder, that may not always be the case. For my son, Jake, each sense is super-powered. Tastes are too strong, lights are too bright, sounds are too loud, smells are too strong and a light touch feels like a sneak attack on his over responsive sensory system. While it affects every aspect of his life, it changes a parent’s life, too. Some other moms may sit and talk while the kids are off playing, but I am always aware of what my son is doing. This makes me appear like a “helicopter mom.” However, during sensory overload, he has trouble regulating his emotions, so I’m watching so I can help. He doesn’t always know his triggers, so I watch. Too much water in his eyes while playing at the lake could lead to a meltdown, so I am his sidekick to evaluate his superpowers and teach him to self-regulate. While I normally sit by myself, one day a new neighbor sat close by me at the beach. We made some small talk, and she suggested my son join the swim team. I explained that swimming was tough because of Jake’s challenges with motor planning, body awareness and sensory over-responsiveness. A challenge for a parent of a child with sensory processing disorder can be the lack of understanding from others. A lot of people do not think it is real. But she did. So most people half-listen, or roll their eyes, or remark that with more discipline or “just one weekend” at their house, my son would be “cured.” But she didn’t. She asked a variety of questions about sensory processing. When did we first notice signs of it? Will he grow out of it? How does it affect him? Finally, she asked, “What do you do about it?” I immediately listed the things we do to help our son. “He’s been in private occupational therapy for three years, gets OT in school, he is in vision therapy, we had his occupational therapist come to school to explain his challenges to his teachers…” She interrupted me. “No. Not for him. That’s a lot to handle as a parent. What do you do for you?” Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, because my eyes immediately filled up with tears. While I could rattle off a list of things we were doing to help my son, I couldn’t name one thing I do to help myself handle my son’s challenges. I had never actually even thought about it. No one had ever asked me how his diagnosis affects me, let alone a person I barely know. If you know a special needs mom, ask them about their child. Listen to their explanations about why their child behaves a certain way. Don’t judge their parenting from small snapshots of one day. Trust that they know best. Ask them what they are doing for themselves. Parenting a child with sensory processing disorder can be a lonely road. But one person with a genuine interest and concern for your child and for you can make you feel better and remind you to take care of yourself, too. Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images