It happened today.
I was optimistic. Teddy’s Daddy had gone into the supermarket and Ted, safely contained in his carseat, was bored. He is, as we know, not very verbal, but his speech progresses slowly. He kept saying “Let’s go! Let’s go find outside!”
So I thought, why not? The shopping list was wonderfully short, we wouldn’t be in there long. Let’s go and stretch his legs.
Trouble is, Teddy’s awfully tall. And solid. And strong. For a three-and-a-half-year-old.
He trotted next to me holding my hand, marvelling at the novelty of not being contained in a trolley. They are getting much too snug for our big boy. And he was fine. An angel.
We didn’t find Daddy. So we trotted back down the middle aisle, extremely fast past an enticing Easter egg display, all the way to the other end.
And we didn’t find Daddy.
But what we did find, unfortunately, was a big display of toys. Disney Infinity, I believe they’re called. Something to do with a games console? Far too over-priced to buy as a meltdown avoidance tactic. But there was Mike Wazowski. Which just happens to be what he calls Monster Inc. I whisked him away, but it had begun. The screaming and wriggling and yelling and hitting. The not understanding. The lying on the floor tantrum.
I don’t care these days. I don’t care what people think. I don’t care if they think he’s a spoiled brat, a terrible twos / threes example… whatever. And I don’t care in a non-militant sort of way. It is what it is. For me, the only thing that is important is soothing Ted. I sat on the floor with him. Cuddled him when he allowed it. Told him it was all okay.
He got up and trotted off again, quite cheerfully, in search of that stand which, thankfully, was a long way away. A young couple watched him charge past, amused at his gabbling enthusiasm. I was relieved the toys were out of sight.
Trouble is… then he found another toy stand with masks on it. He wanted one. I put it back. We began again, only more in earnest.
I picked him up and headed for the checkout, hoping Daddy would be there. If he wasn’t, I was prepared to go back to the car and manage it all within the safe confines of our vehicle.
But there was Daddy, with a trolley into which Ted was plonked, quite happily. And in which was a far more appropriate toy. It kept him happy till we left.
Sometimes, like today, life can feel very isolating. Autism is invisible, after all, and without explaining to everyone with whom you come into contact, you just get your head down and get on with it, in spite of the staring, the entirely understandable not understanding… It can feel quite tough, frankly. And is a reminder of why we don’t often go out into very populated places.
Having said that, we had an enormously successful outing a few days ago. We actually managed to eat a meal in a restaurant. A whole meal. With no meltdowns. We were very prepared. We had bought some new (and very cheap) toys for the novelty factor and I had a tub full of home-made playdough and another full of Mr Potato Head parts – his two obsessions. Still. 🙂
When we went into the restaurant, we spotted a group of empty tables around a corner. I asked a waitress if it would be okay if we sat there, explained about Ted and she said it was absolutely fine. They couldn’t have been more attentive, gentle or kind those waitresses. While Teddy’s Daddy was paying, one of the younger ones, who had been throwing sweet smiles at Teddy throughout the meal, approached me and told me about her 30 year old autistic uncle, that he had somewhere he could go during the day, that it had been toughest on her grandmother… The whole experience was unutterably touching, on several levels.
And okay, it was still a bit ‘isolated’, but within that isolation, we found understanding.
Reading his new story at the table
Teddy’s playdough creation
The Ted Diaries 