One of the things I wasn't really looking forward to about Connor's first day of school yesterday was that mandatory parent meeting that started 15 minutes after we dropped him off with his new class. Not because I don't like coffee and doughnuts (well, the doughnuts anyway). But because I knew I would have the twins with me.
And I knew they would have to be unrestrained. Waiting. In an unfamiliar room that was alternately quiet and loud. Being expected to sit still, or, at the very least, not dancing across the room in circles. Having to be quiet while the director went over the policies and procedures. In short, having to do something that they generally don't like to do and don't do very well. So, yeah, no doughnuts after all.
But, despite that, I was a little bit surprised and impressed.
Yes, there was some inappropriate jabbering and spelling during the director's speech. Yes, there was some unrestrained dancing, though it was limited to distracting only the four people sitting in our small corner. There was even some random kicking, by Xander, who was laying down on one of the seats and who couldn't stop kicking the person who had the misfortune to sit closest to us. It was what it was.
But there was a little moment, among all of the others, that stood out. The grandmother of one of Connor's classmates from last year was sitting across from us. She kept smiling and trying to engage the boys in little waves or grins. Sawyer was too busy bouncing on my lap and slapping his hands onto mine to be bothered. But Xander, he noticed.
And more than that, he engaged. He would watch her, flashing a big grin after she smiled at him. Eventually, it escalated to him hiding behind my shoulder and peeking his head out to look at her, expecting her to still be there smiling at him (which she, of course, was because who can resist my mischievous little devil when he's being so cute?) It lasted for the last five minutes of the program.
Engagement. Spontaneous and unforced interaction. Prolonged contact. All with a big smile on his face. That little moment made up for all the rest, for all the worries about how they would do in the situation, how I would manage them both on my own without restraints, and whether or not we could make it through the whole program without having to leave. It was so worth it.
Sometimes I worry that we're overlooking Xander. His delays are not the same as his brother's. It seems more a reluctance, a stubbornness that keeps him quiet. He knows language. He has words and even phrases. He can be consistent and appropriate, when he chooses to be. And though his social skills are not what you would call typical for his age, they are much more present than this brother's.
And it's these little moments, that are happening more and more often of late, that reassure us. It makes us hopeful that his path will not be the same, will not be quite as difficult as the one his brother will have. They're both moving forward, of course, which is all that matters. Each one of our boys, coming along in their own time and their own way.
