My SPD toolbox

Quinn's sensory-seeking (part of his sensory-processing disorder) is the one thing about him that can really cause him problems. He craves deep pressure when he gets wound up, and that can lead to some problematic behaviors like leaning hard on kids, running across the room and banging right into them rather than stopping, and driving his chin into the dog's back. He might stomp on the ground during circle time, spin out of control when he is supposed to be sitting down or run through a shop or restaurant with little regard for who might be in his way. Taking him out can be a breeze, or it can be scary as heck.

We've been in lots of therapy, with four different occupational therapists. And in case your kiddo is in the same boat, I thought I'd share what's working for us:

First, some tools :

- A core disk. This works so well with Quinn that if I walk into preschool without it the teacher looks visibly nervous and asks hopefully, "Did you bring his cushion?" So we try never to forget it. His teachers use it during circle time, but also carry it into the church for worship time with other classes or into the audotorium for group activities. Something about sitting on this thing calms Quinn tremendously and helps him to sit still.

- A weighted vest. This is a tricky one. The vest definitely helps ground Quinn. But for some inexplicable reason, every time it's on he will only talk with teeth clenched. So we only use it at times when we really, really need for him to stay calm.

- A chewie. I bought a cute necklace from a company called Chewlry with a silver-dollar-sized disc to bite. Quinn won't wear the necklace - it comes off it you pull it hard, and he can't resist doing that -- so I carry it in my purse and it's always there when we need it.

- A backpack (on his back). The heavier the better. Deep pressure to go!

Next, some techniques:

- Engine check: This awesome technique was suggested by one of his OTs. When he starts winding up - and with practice I can spot this earlier and earlier - I get down to his eye level and say, "Quinn, your engine is running too fast. What would help it to slow down?" Often times he will tell me what he needs - a bear hug, to push on the wall, deep pressure on his shoulders, to chom on the chewie. If he doesn't tell me what he needs I list the above things - "would you like a bear hug? do you need to bit on your chewie?" - and he chooses.

- Move the wall: This one came from his really excellent school OT, who one day saw me trying desperately to sign him into school with one hand while attempting a death grip on his arm with the other hand so he wouldn't bolt.  If I need him to stand still like in line at the bank - which is REALLY hard for him - is I ask him to push really, really hard against the wall and try to make it move. It keeps him still, is instant deep pressure and calms him very quickly.

- Don't pop her bubble: Quinn was getting into a lot of trouble at his private school for getting in kids' faces, poking toward their eye, leaning on them, etc. So the OT from his public school (the same one referenced above) suggested that we tell him that everyone has a bubble around him or her, and he should not pop anyone's bubble (except for Mama's, Baba's and Nana's) without asking. Wow, does he get this one. The day after I introduced the technique, he ended up at the bottom of a pile of kids, with his friend Nicole on top. Out popped his little head and he shouted, "Nicole popped my bubble!"
He initiates this technique more than any other.

- Being loud in a whisper: The louder and more out of control he gets, the softer I talk to him. Yelling or traditional discipline just seems to fire him up. Talking soft gets his attention and helps calm him down.

Do all these techniques work all the time? Heck, no. But knowing I have all these options has helped me feel more confident when we go out, which I think Quinn can sense. In short, I'm not expert on sensory-processing disorder (not yet, anyway!) but these things have helped me, and I hope they can help someone else, too!

Are special needs funny?

Today I saw an adoptive mom's advertisement for t-shirts she's selling. One said something about how it wouldn't be terrible to have a kid with special needs, it would be terrible to raise a kid who was cruel to people with special needs. I don't love the implication that it is inherently unwelcome to have a kid with special needs, but I certainly appreciate the sentiment behind the shirt.

But another shirt said, "Ask me about my attention deficit disorder" and then listed a bunch of random thoughts, ending with, "hi." Um, isn't making fun of a very challenging special need just a little bit cruel?

I sent an email to the mom saying the ADD shirt really made me cringe, and she responded that humor is what parents of SN kids need and that the shirt is her best seller among her clients, who are loving Christians with senses of humor. She also said the creator of the shirt was her 11-year-old son, who has ADD.

I'm not comforted. If her son wants to laugh at his own challenges, awesome. But do the people who see such a shirt recognize and admire a kid who is laughing at his own challenges? Or do they see such a message as sanctioning their own prejudices? I fear it's the latter.

Humor? Absolutely! At our kids' expense? Never.

That's my take. What do you think?

Our secret shame, or how we found success with bribery

I've never believed in bribing children to be good. And yet, here I am, doing it. And darned if it isn't working.

Between Quinn's many delays and his sensory processing disorder, he has a very, very, very tough time sitting still and acting appropriately in school. He also loves to bang, to lean, to push - behaviors that, even though they aren't done with aggression, look very aggressive. The girls cry. The boys push back. The teachers get frustrated. Quinn gets in trouble.

In short, Quinn's behavior was becoming a fairly serious problem at school. As in, the teacher pulled us aside when we picked him up, every day, to tell us about the latest problem. This happened at his preschool, at Chinese school and at his therapeutic play group. Making it especially challenging to help him address these issues, he doesn't do these things at home.

We tried everything we could think of and everything his various therapists suggested.
We talked about keeping our hands to ourselves. We talked about how everyone is surrounded by a bubble, and how we shouldn't pop someone else's bubble. We threatened timeouts. The behaviors continued.

Then one day about three weeks ago, I was telling Quinn how I knew he was going to do great in school that day and he said, "If you keep your hands to yourself, you get a dollar?" Hmmmm. What to do? Sorry, but I bit. And guess what? It worked. Immediately. Since that day, no inappropriate behaviors at school, and Quinn is becoming quite the math whiz adding up his haul.

As a side benefit, he's developing a sense of saving. Now when we go shopping he looks at the toys, asks the price and decides what he's saving up for. He vascillates between Smokey the Fire Truck and a big giant garbage truck, but he keeps saving.

I feel a little embarrassed that such a shameful technique is working for us. But I can't help but rejoice that it's working. My goal right now is to help him succeed in school. And if this is what works right now, then this is what I'll do.

When bad news hits home

As a journalist, I've covered lots of terrible stories. But none has been quite so personal as the shootings last week at a grocery store in Tucson. The grocery store where my mom shops. The grocery store where Quinn and I take her regularly since she stopped driving.

Tragically, the little girl killed in the shootings was the daughter of a high school friend. One of the men who was shot but survived is a friend's father-in-law.

When I got the call about the shootings I had just left Quinn's monthly "Barnyard Fun" occupational therapy session. It was the first time EVER that he participated in a group session - he did the hand motions during the songs, played the name gave with the other kids, threw styrofoam "snowballs" into a bucket on command - and we were just thrilled.

We had plans for the rest of the day, but instead I rushed to work and stayed until the next day's paper was on the presses. When I came home I went into Quinn's room and just sat and watched him sleep for a while. Someone's child had died that day. One minute here, the next minute gone. It could have been anyone's child. It could have been Quinn.

I remember once, years ago, a friend telling me that her sister had decided to have a second child because she didn't think she could survive if her only child died. At the time, just married and not even contemplating parenthood, that seemed so bizarre to me. Now I get it.

The next day, again at work, I mentioned to a colleague who has a son a bit younger than Quinn that I had sat by his bedside when I got home. "I did that, too," he said. "Me, too," piped in a colleague with a 5-year-old girl. Turns out every parent in our newsroom had done the same.

The shootings here are such a terrible tragedy. They're a terrifying reminder that life as we know it is so fragile, so fleeting. But also a reminder to hold fast to what we have, and appreciate every single second - no matter how many we are given, or how few.