Day 10: ‘Normal’

I’m holding my breath slightly as I type.

The next sentence you read is, for this family, massive.

Today, we had a perfectly ordinary family day out. For the first time in years. And I am not exaggerating. Probably two years. That’s not to say we haven’t been out, but… there have always been considerations – thanks to the unpredictable nature of autism and our relative greenness where it was concerned, to Teddy’s extreme youth, to his penchant for walking in any direction we weren’t, or staging a sit-down protest when attempts were made to persuade him to walk with us, necessitating pushchairs everywhere we went, to dietary requirements meaning picnics…

Today, thanks to the leaps forward of recent weeks, including Ted’s walking to and from school every day holding our hands, we decided on a day out. We picked Richmond, N. Yorks – a beautiful market town with cobbled streets, a castle complete with enormous tower, plenty of shops and pubs in which to have lunch.

We marshalled our army, loaded the car, took a leisurely and beautiful drive across country (I abhor motorways and would far rather admire the scenery en route) and found a carpark.

I turned to Teddy’s Daddy, aghast.

“We forgot the pushchair!”

It usually lives in the car, but had been taken out on Friday for a village amble and not replaced.

“Oh well,” he replied far more calmly than I felt “We’ll just have to cope.”

Thanks to Teddy’s godmother (or oddmother as she prefers) we have a beautiful dinosaur backpack with a rein. So off we went.

Our first port of call was coffee. He sat (mostly) through the whole thing.

And then we wandered off through the town to the Castle.

A little over a year ago, on one of our very few family outings to ‘visit places’, we visited Dunstanburgh Castle and were talked into joining English Heritage. We didn’t use it once in the ensuing year and were talking just yesterday to a friend about probably cancelling it. Autism has knocked the stuffing out of us, really.

But Richmond Castle is also English Heritage and of course we hadn’t cancelled it since yesterday, so we were able to get in ‘for free’.

Five of us climbed the Keep

While the other two wandered the grounds, charmed little old ladies, and pronounced (and I kid you not) “It’s a castle! Where’s the Queen?” I mean… wow…

The only meltdown of the day came when Daddy had his turn going up the tower and his little sidekick became rather distraught at his absence.

After the castle, we found a pub for lunch, and he sat through the whole thing, on a normal chair, with only minimal assistance from Minecraft on Daddy’s phone.

And after lunch, we pottered around town. We even went into shops…!

And this is my image of the day, holding hands, backpack and reins on, nuggie (his blanket) tucked through the handle, plastic snapping dragon in the other hand (unavoidably procured from the Castle gift shop):

This… this is a whole new life opening up. One that we once took for granted, and are now more grateful for than you can possibly imagine.

And we are all, all six of us, enormously proud of our little chap. ❤

Ups and Downs, Highs and Lows, On We Go…

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

Baby steps

It’s always been the pushchair. The combination of extreme youth + autism = running in the opposite direction / launching self into the road / (his favourite) staging a sit-down protest. Right there. Where he stands sits.

But we all love walking, and with five boys, it’s a necessity to let off some steam. Plus, we have a rather ambitious longer term plan, which feels like a fairly bonkers pipe dream just now…

But first things first. That is, first we need to get Ted walking. Preferably in a similar direction to everyone else.

We had a fairly hairy outing to Cow Green. It’s easy to forget, as the winter sun beats down on your front door, and snowdrops dare to poke their noses above ground, that just a half-hour’s drive can land you in an entirely different climate.

Our vehicle of many seats headed valiantly up the road, only to almost get stuck in snow, so we abandoned the ascent to the reservoir, and opted for a footpath lower down instead.

Ted. Was. A. Superstar.

He was thrilled with the snow, distracted by brothers walking behind him, (so everyone moved out in front), he headed for every puddle and, when he realised he really was pushchair-free and independent, set off at a trot along the path.

This great success was hotly pursued by a second. It isn’t easy going out for a meal with Baby Baggins. There are a hundred and one potential meltdown triggers: one parent needs to go and order at the bar / go to the bathroom, he’s expected to sit still for too long, somehow or other he doesn’t have what he needs / wants / has a sudden left-field yen for…

But today, we were prepared.

First, the pub was child-friendly and the food was good. And then, from my magic handbag, I produced Lightning McQueen…

…and Mater…

…and Mr Potato Head.

Sorted.