It's the little things, some days, that seem so very different about this life.
Connor has been off on his lake adventure this last week, and Josh has been out of town on a much-needed and well-deserved boys' weekend away. It's just been me and the twins.
And sometimes the walls close in. The house seems too small, too familiar, after more than a month of summer vacation. But our options of getting out are also limited. It's been over 100 degrees in our part of the world for weeks, and even the backyard pool has lost its appeal in that degree of heat. Our old pastime of at least sneaking out for a middle of the day (and thus less crowded) meal are over thanks to the GFCF diet experiment. Nothing, and I mean nothing, works for that when you factor in the boys' already picky eating habits.
But yesterday we ventured out by necessity. I had to pick up something to drop off for a client to review (one of my freelance marketing projects that helps pay the bills around here). After that errand was done, I decided to take the boys to Target for a little shopping.
One of the things we're working on now that the boys have started occupational therapy is play. It sounds so incredibly simple, and for a lot of kids, it is. But for kids with autism, for Sawyer and Xander, it has never been easy. Toys are usually things to be lined up or sorted, maybe even studied from all angles, but very rarely is there any actual play. That's not structured enough for their brains, doesn't fit into a sequence or have a clear enough result or reward.
I often look at the photo above - a poster size print we have framed on a wall in Sawyer's room - and shake my head. This picture, and those posters, were from a time before the diagnosis. We used to laugh at Sawyer always wanting to climb on the dining room table and "play" with this Little People airport. What he was really doing, of course, was opening and closing the little luggage chute. He was fascinated, as always, by the repetitive movement of it. But at the time, when I designed the black and white posters for the wall, this one got the "play" from our theme - live, laugh, love, play, dream, believe. Little did we know ...
But I digress, I was talking about our trip to Target. You see, I wanted to take the boys into the toy section, to see if anything appealed to them. We have recently re-organized our play room into a more "work box" setting, something both boys are familiar with through school and therapy. All of the old toys fit neatly into the containers, but I thought it might be nice to have a few new ones.
And that's when the difference of this life hit home.
If I had taken Connor to the toy section, he would have jumped up and down with excitement. He would have ran the whole way to the back of the store. He would have wanted to go through every single aisle, picking up items to explore and to want to take home with him. He would have begged for any and all of them. I would have had a list of potential birthday and Christmas gifts lined up for later this year.
But I did not take Connor. I took Sawyer and Xander. They didn't like entering the store, much less being led to the back of it. Xander flopped down in the floor several times on our way back. Sawyer had his hands over his ears practically the whole way. Neither one of them wanted to walk down any of the aisles with toys. If I forced them into one, and then happened to pick up a toy they might like, Xander quickly grabbed it out of my hand and stuck it right back on the shelf, loudly proclaiming, "No, no thanks!" with each one. Sawyer wouldn't even look at the toys, he just reached his arm out to push them away.
There was no begging, no requests for toys. There was no list of potential gifts for later. There were simply two boys, not very happy to find themselves in a toy section of a local store and certainly not inclined to take any of them home with them. They did manage to hold a bouncy ball with spikes (hello texture and sensory input) before quickly tossing it back into the bin. And Xander pulled a hula hoop down to examine it, before also quickly putting it right back.
There simply wasn't anything that truly appealed to them.
On the way toward the children's video and book section (my second attempt to find an interest), they were both far more interested in the grocery section. Xander craves Doritos - an item definitely not on the GFCF list - and made a bee line for the chip aisle. Sawyer, who never refuses a drink and often steals any that are not carefully guarded, couldn't take his eyes off the Gatorade display.
There might have been some begging, or at least repetitive requesting, here. But I moved them along.
And the movies and books were just as unimpressive as the toys. They hardly looked. They certainly didn't pick anything up to take a closer look. And they LOVE to watch movies. A screen is a screen, after all, even if it's not their beloved computer or iPad.
But the trip wasn't working. They weren't interested. And unlike Connor, who would have had a cart full if given the opportunity, they didn't have a single thing to request (outside the Doritos and Gatorade).
"Truck," Xander finally said. "I want truck, please."
And we were done. Our little shopping trip yielded nothing, not a single item of interest to either one of them.
And as we walked back out to the truck empty-handed, I was a little disappointed. I had hoped they would find something that interested them, that we could put something new into the play room that they might enjoy. Maybe then Xander would not always be so quick to say "No toys!" when screen time is over and my inevitable response of "Play with toys!" follows.
But as I was helping them get buckled into their seatbelts, I thought a little more about the experience. No, selecting a toy was not successful. But the rest of it was a huge step forward.
Up until last year, I hardly took the boys anywhere that I couldn't fit a double jogging stroller or a double cart. Yesterday we stopped at three different places. The boys had to go in at each one of them, and they willingly climbed down from the truck, held my hand (or allowed me to hold theirs) as we crossed streets and parking lots, and they went inside. They didn't always like what was inside, and sometimes flopped onto the floor in protest, but they went. And they kept going in, even after not liking one of the stops that came before.
Progress. Maybe not always in the way that you want it or expect it, but progress just the same. Maybe we'll eventually work up to picking out a toy or book we like. And maybe we'll eventually work up to actually playing with it when it comes home. But for now, I'll be happy for what we did accomplish. We got out of the house, out of all of our comfort zones, and we made it home without any major issues or meltdowns. A step forward is still a step forward, even if it is not the one you were trying to take.